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A leopard leaped upon the officer." See page 13. 




Jungles and Traitc 

OR 

The Wild Animal Trappers of India 

BY 

WILLIAM MURRAY GRAYDON 

AUTHOR OF ^ J 

“ The Rajah’s Fortress,” “ The Cryptogram,” “ Butcher of Cawnpore,” 
“ In Barracks and Wigwam,” etc. 





NEW YORK AND LONDON 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS 




THr L ibrary of 

CONGRESS, 

T'vo Copiea ReoEiveD 

JUL, 18 1902 

COPVRIOHT ENTRY 

Cl, ASS <2-XXa No. 

3 3o7^ 

C O PY 3, 



Copyright, 190a 
By STREET & SMITH 

Jungles and Traitors 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

I. — Dan Stapleford’s Penalty 

II. — Marco Begins a New Life 

III. — Senor Garcia Appears 

IV. — Night in the Jungle 

V. — In the Noose of a Thug . 

VI. — The Fight in the .Ravine 

VII. — The Fate of Baba Khan . 

VIII. — How the Fight Ended . 

IX. — In the Jaws of Death 

X. — An Unpleasant Discovery 

XI.— A Startling Charge 

XII. — A Deed of Darkness 

XIII. — Saved by a Panther 

XIV. — A Flag of Truce . 

XV. — A Den of Serpents . 

XVI. — The Explosion 

XVII. — A Timely Rescue 
XVIII.— A Perilous Swim . 

XIX. — A Fearful Retribution 

XX.— A Strange Meeting 

XXI. — Birds of a Feather . 


Page 

• 5 

II 

. 19 

28 

• 34 
41 

• 50 

. 56 

. 63 

72 

• 79 
88 

• 95 

. 100 

. 108 

• 115 

. 122 
. 129 

. 136 

. 145 

• 152 


CONTENTS, 


Chapter Page 

XXII.— A Surprise in the Jungle . . . 158 

XXIII. — The Bridge of Vines . . . .165 

XXIV. — Gunga Ra Makes a Suggestion . 174 

XXV.— The Work of a Fiend . . . .180 

XXVI. — True Heroism 189 

XXVII.— A Lively Siege 196 

XXVIII.— Old Ugly and the Panther . . 202 

XXIX. — An Anxious Consultation . . . 209 

XXX. — Swept Away 216 

XXXI. — The Burning Vessel . . . . 223 

XXXII.— The Attack 231 

XXXIII. — Strange Rescuers 238 

XXXIV. — “The Beginning of the End . . 244 

XXXV.— Which is Full of Surprises . . .251 

XXXVI. — Conclusion 258 


JUNGLES AND TRAITORS 


CHAPTER L 

DAN STAPLEFORD’s PENALTY. 

“Dan ought to come soon/’ 

It was a February night in the far East. 

The monsoon was blowing over the province of Bengal, 
and its parched and clammy influence made life oppressive 
to the dwellers in the great city of Calcutta. 

Our story opens in the native quarter — ^the Black town 
of earlier times. On a narrow, foul, and unpaved street 
stood a low hovel of bamboo and mud, in no wise different 
from hundreds of others in the neighborhood. 

The occupant of the hovel was a white lad of seven- 
teen — tall and robust for his age. He sat at a table, on 
which a rude lamp burned dimly. An open book lay 
nearby. 

For hours the lad had been keeping vigil. There was 
a look of strained expectancy on his tanned and hand- 
some face. His brown hair was disheveled; his hazel 
eyes were struggling against drowsiness. 

The furniture of the room was meager — a table, sev- 
eral chairs, a small oriental stove, and a shelf of dishes. 
On the floor was coarse and dirty matting. 

Finally, the lady went to the door, and glanced up and 


6 


Dan Stapleford’s Penalty. 

down the dismal street. No one was visible, save a na- 
tive policeman. He closed the door, and stood for a 
moment in hesitation. 

may as well go to bed,” he muttered. “It is the 
same old story. Dan has broken another promise. It 
was before sunset when he took the rifle away to sell. 
Instead of bringing the money home, he has spent it on 
liquor. No doubt he is lying in some foul drinking-hole 
now. There is not a rupee in the house. What will be- 
come of us ?” 

Taking the lamp, he opened a door leading to a rear 
apartment. It contained an English bed, a small desk, 
and a shelf, on which were a few books. 

As the lad crossed the threshold he heard a confused 
uproar at a distance. His face turned pale. He roughly 
placed the lamp on the desk, and ran to the street door. 

Here the tumult was very distinct. Hoarse, angry 
cries, and the patter of feet swelled louder and louder on 
the night air. Dirty and excited Hindoos swarmed out 
of the neighboring doors — men, women, and children. 

Now, at the end of the street, appeared a glare of 
torches. The mob surged on with fierce cries. 

The object of their fury was a white man, whose long 
legs kept him well in advance of his pursuers. He wore 
a faded blue coat, and dingy white trousers. He was 
bareheaded, and his iron-gray hair and beard streamed to 
the wind. His once handsome face was bloated and 
haggard with dissipation. 

He plunged madly on mid a shower of stones and 
spears. Blood streamed from half a dozen wounds. 


Dan Stapleford’s Penalty. 7 

With his fist he leveled a couple of daring natives who 
tried to intercept him from the front. 

As the fugitive came opposite where the lad stood, he 
swerved to one side, and staggered into the hovel. He 
dashed the door shut and dropped a bar across it. 

“Dan ! Is it really you ?” cried the youth, in a tone of 
anguish. “What is the matter? You are wounded and 
bleeding.” 

“Only stone cuts,” panted the other. “But — I — Pm 
a dead man, Marco. A weapon, for Heaven's sake! 
Here they come! Don’t you hear them howling? 
They’re after my life-blood!” 

His face was distorted with terror as he dragged the 
lad into the rear room, and closed the frail door. In a 
trice the bed and desk were piled against it. Out in the 
street the mob were swarming before the hovel. Shouts 
of “Din! Din!” (the Mohammedan battle-cry for the 
faith) rose shrill and loud. 

“A weapon, lad !” clamored the man. “Surely there is 
one left.” 

His bloodshot eyes roved about the room. 

Marco shook his head sadly. 

“You pawned the last pistol two days ago,” he replied, 
“and the rifle ” 

“Ah! the rifle was my undoing, lad,” interrupted the 
other. “I got thirty rupees for it from the gunsmith on 
Circular Road. Then thirst made me a demon. I drank 
and drank, until I was mad. Now this is the end of poor 
old Dan Stapleford. It’s a just penalty. I deserve it. 


8 


Dan Stapleford’s Penalty. 

Hark! They are attacking. I won’t die until I spit a 
couple of the dogs.” 

As the house shook under a rain of furious blows, 
Stapleford tore one of the iron legs from the bed, and 
stood on the defensive. 

“Don’t talk that way, Dan,” pleaded Marco, with tears 
in his eyes. “Surely the mob won’t dare to break in. 
The police and the soldiers will soon arrive.” 

“Not in time to save me/’ cried Stapleford, almost 
fiercely. “I tell you I’m a dead man !” 

“But what have you done, Dan? Nothing to deserve 
death?” 

“Yes, a thousand times over, according to native laws. 
Hark, lad, and you shall know. I must spin the tale in 
a few words. I think I visited every rum shop in Cal- 
cutta to-night. I drank until I was stupid, and then 
started home. Of course, I lost the way, and my ill- 
luck led me to a Mohammedan mosque ” 

He paused a moment as the shouts and poundings rose 
to a shrill pitch. Marco’s face was blanched with terror. 
He could guess how the story was to end. Already he 
realized his friend’s desperate plight. 

“I blundered into a Mohammedan mosque,” huskily re- 
sumed Stapleford. “When the priests came at me the 
drink made me a demon. I killed one of them with his 
own weapon. I knocked an idol over, and smashed it. 
Then the liquor left my brain, and I realized what I had 
done. I ran for life, with the mob at my heels. I was 
sober enough then, and I’m sober now. I’ll die sober, 
lad.” 


9 


Dan Stapleford^s Penalty. 

Marco uttered a groan of agony. 

“You sha’n’t die !” he cried. “There must be a way of 
escape, Dan. Quick! before it is too late.” 

His voice was drowned by a rending and splitting of 
frail bamboo walls. The mob had broken in. A rush of 
feet and hoots of triumph and rage rose from the front 
room. Now the assailants were beating at the inner 
door. 

“Crawl under the bed, lad,” cried Stapleford. “They 
won’t find you there.” 

“Never I” declared Marco. 

He tore the bookshelf from the wall, and stood by his 
companion’s side. 

There was no time for futile words. Crash! crash! 
crash! Door and wall broke inward together, with a 
sickening, grinding noise. Down fell desk and bed. The 
glare of torches streamed into the room. 

Over the debris leaped the maddened fanatics, brand- 
ishing flashing weapons, and yelling the watchword of 
Mohammed. 

Stapleford’s iron club split open the head of his fore- 
most foe. He deftly dodged a big stone, and the missile 
struck Marco on the temple. Without a cry, the brave 
lad fell back on the floor, white and motionless. 

A second native went down before the terrible iron 
club. Then a keen-edged knife whizzed forward, and 
sank deeply into Stapleford’s breast. He gasped, and 
threw up his arms. In the twinkling of an eye the mob 
were upon him with spears and daggers, and thus ended 
a brave but misspent life. 


lo Dan Stapleford’s Penalty. 

Marco lay where he had fallen. Though the Moham- 
medans believed him dead, they would probably have 
mangled the body in their religious fury. But, luckily,, 
something intervened to save the lad. 

Already the affray had turned into a formidable riot. 
Alarm bells were ringing in the European quarter of the 
city. From the street came cries of “The police! The 
soldiers !” 

Hearing the tumult, the fanatics left Stapleford's hovel 
as hastily as they had entered. Outside they found the 
narrow street crowded with hundreds of Mohammedans, 
Hindoos, and outcast Eurasians. 

Without regard to race or caste, this mixed mob gave 
eager battle to the native police, who had by this time ar- 
rived, and were trying to force a way to the spot. The 
uproar was furious and incessant. 

Finally, three companies of Sepoy troops entered the 
street, led by English officers. This turned the tide. As 
the mob sullenly retreated, a fire, kindled either by acci- 
dent or intent, broke out in one of the native houses. The 
wind quickly fanned the flames. 

When day broke, a few minutes later, the Calcutta fire 
department was fighting the stubborn conflagration, and 
the Sepoys and police were chasing the dismembered body 
of rioters from street to street of the native quarter. 


CHAPTER II. 


MARCO pEGINS A NEW LIFE. 

Marco was only stunned by the blow from the stone. 
When he came to his senses the gray light of dawn was 
streaming through the ruined walls of the house. 

He sat up, and rubbed his aching head. He shivered 
with horror to see a brown, half-naked corpse lying across 
the broken desk. A sorely-wounded Mohammedan was 
huddled in the doorway, gasping for breath, and groaning 
in hollow tones. 

Then remembrance and the sight of Stapleford came 
to the lad in a flash. He threw himself upon the dis- 
figured body of the man who had been his only friend in 
all the wide world. He alternately sobbed bitterly and 
uttered husky threats of vengeance. 

Grief so stupefied Marco that he neither heard the tu- 
mult outside nor saw the smoke that was drifting into the 
room. 

A heavy hand on his shoulder roused him. He was in 
the presence of an English officer and two Sepoys. 

Before a word could be spoken, two new arrivals 
climbed over the debris into the room. One was either 
an Englishman or an American. He was tall and robust, 
with a bronzed face, and a heavy yellow mustache. The 
other was short and stout, and his German origin was 


12 


Marco Begins a New Life. 

plainly revealed in his smooth, round, good-humored face. 
Both wore high boots and suits of gray flannel. 

With an exclamation of sorrow, the taller man bent 
over Stapleford. 

“The report was true, Hofstein,’’ he cried. “Here lies 
the poor fellow, stone dead.” 

“A victim of his own folly,” interposed the officer. 
“But you men are intruding. It may be my duty to ar- 
rest you. Give an account of yourselves.” 

“Certainly,” replied the tall stranger, with alacrity. “I 
am Ralph Matlock, and my friend is Conrad Hofstein. 
We are agents for Richter, of New York, the importer of 
wild animals.” 

“Ah! something in his line?” replied the officer, nod- 
ding at the dead man. 

“Exactly,” said Matlock. “Our business with Staple- 
ford was professional. We have known him for years.” 

“Ach, yes, and a good fellow he was,” added Hofstein. 

Marco looked at the men in surprise. 

“Don’t you remember me, lad?” asked Matlock. “T 
saw you six years ago, when poor Stapleford was in very 
different circumstances. I have been in other countries 
since then, and only landed here yesterday.” 

Marco shook his head, and burst into tears. 

“Dan I Dan !” he sobbed. “You’re the only one I had ! 
The only one! You were always good to me!” 

Hofstein wiped a drop of moisture from his eye, and 
turned aside to blow his nose. 

“Have you no friends in Calcutta?” asked Matlock, 
“in India?” 


Marco Begins a New Life. 13 

“None anywhere/' replied Marco. “I’m all alone 
now.” 

“Come, come,” said the officer, not unkindly. “We 
must be moving. The quarter is on fire, and the flames 
are sweeping this way.” 

He was right. The roar and crackle of the conflagra- 
tion could be plainly heard. The house was filling with 
smoke. 

Marco looked around him in helpless bewilderment. 

“For the present you are in my charge,” added the 
officer. “The authorities will require your evidence. 
There seems to be nothing here worth saving. Did the 
murdered man have any papers?” 

“Not a scrap,” replied Marco. “Those few books are 
the only things of value left.” 

“The pawnshop swallowed the rest,” muttered the 
officer, in an undertone, as he examined the broken and 
empty desk. He peered into the wrecked front room. 
Then, spying a door at the rear of the house, he threw it 
open, and entered a small, narrow courtyard, hemmed in 
by dingy walls. 

“Stop!” cried Marco. “Come back!” 

The warning was too late. With a clanking noise and 
a savage snarl, a great, tawny leopard bounded to the end 
of his chain, lighted upon the officer’s breast, and bore 
him heavily to the ground. 

With rare presence of mind, the man did not stir. He 
uttered a low appeal for help. The animal’s open jaws 
were within several inches of his face. 


14 Marco Begins a New Life. 

The Sepoys sprang forward with cocked rifles. Be- 
fore they could fire Marco threw himself in front of them. 

“Keep back!” he shouted. “Til get the leopard away.*’ 

The Sepoys ordered him aside, but Matlock and Hof- 
stein interfered in the lad’s behalf. 

Marco was swift to seize his opportunity. He boldly 
advanced, and struck the leopard on the nose. 

“Back, Selim !” he cried sternly. “How dare you mis- 
behave? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 

For an instant the animal hesitated. Then, growling 
sullenly, he crawled back against the wall. 

“Well done !” cried Matlock. 

“Ach, splendid!” ejaculated the German. “The lad is 
a born trainer.” 

The officer rose quickly to his feet. Save for a couple 
of scratches, he was unhurt. 

“Kill that brute,” he directed, and up went the Sepoy 
rifles. 

“Stop! don’t shoot Selim,” pleaded Marco. “I forgot 
that I had him left. We are fond of each other. That 
is why Dan never sold the leopard.” 

The officer hesitated. The Sepoys waited stolidly. 

“The lad’s courage and promptness saved your life,” 
whispered Matlock. “Besides, you have no right to shoot 
the leopard. He represents the dead man’s property.” 

The officer frowned, not relishing such plain speaking. 
Nevertheless, he countermanded the order. 

The officer took charge of Stapleford’s few books. 
Marco had no property but the leopard. He put a leather 
muzzle on Selim, and unfastened his chain. 


15 


Marco Begins a New Life. 

Then the little party hurried away from the blood- 
stained house. The officer led them, by a short cut, to 
the nearest barracks. As it was, quite a crowd followed, 
attracted by the curious spectacle of the leopard and his 
young master. After promising to see the lad again, 
Matlock and Hofstein departed. 

Selim was chained in the barracks’ yard. Food and 
snug quarters were assigned to Marco. In spite of his 
grief, he slept soundly through the entire day and part of 
the night. 

At nine o’clock the next morning the civil authorities 
held an inquiry on the cause of Staple ford’s death and the 
subsequent riot. Marco was taken before them. Mat- 
lock and Hofstein were among the witnesses present. 

The truth was quickly established. As far as could be 
ascertained, the dead man had no relatives. Indeed, 
little was known of him. 

Matlock testified that Stapleford had begun business in 
Calcutta twelve years before as a dealer in wild animals. 
He trapped them himself in the Bengal jungles, with the 
aid of native hunters. He would never speak about his 
early life. He was a brave man, and well-educated. 

Marco’s testimony was listened to with keen interest 
and attention. 

He said, in reply to the questions of the magistrate : 

“I have no other name but Marco. I remember very 
little about my early life, and even that seems like a 
dream. When I was small, I think I used to be in a 
circus with my father and sister. I am not sure. Then 
I remember riding in a railway train, with a man who 


1 6 Marco Begins a New Life. 

had black eyes and a big black mustache. We came to a 
great city. I think it was called New York. Then I 
don’t remember any more until I was on a ship. The 
captain’s name was Jarrow, and the ship was the Mary 
Annr 

“How long did you stay on this vessel?” asked the 
magistrate. 

“I think it was four years. Captain Jarrow was very 
cruel. He would never tell me anything about myself, 
nor let me talk. Whenever the ship was in port any- 
where, I was locked up until we put to sea again. At 
last the Mary Ann came to Calcutta. Captain Jarrow 
said he had a new master for me, and one dark night he 
took me ashore, and left me with Dan — Dan Stapleford. 
He always made me call him that.” 

“When did this happen ?” inquired the magistrate. 

“Six years ago,” answered Marco. “A different life 
began then. Dan told me not to ask any questions, and 
neither of us ever talked about our past lives. He was 
always kind to me. He taught me to shoot, and ride, 
and trap wild animals. For four years I went with him 
on every trip to the jungles. Then he — he began to drink 
hard. He had to sell his cages and animals, and dis- 
charge the hunters. We moved into the native quarter, 
and got poorer and poorer. Only Selim was left, and 
Dan wouldn’t sell him on my account. Then, night be- 
fore last, Dan went away, and ” 

Here Marco’s voice broke, and his eyes filled with tears. 
He was compelled to stop. 


Marco Begins a New Life. 17 

The magistrate and his companions began to consider 
what should be done with the young waif. 

The problem was unexpectedly solved. Matlock and 
Hofstein approached Marco, and drew him aside. 

“We are sorry for you, my lad,” said the former. “We 
like your pluck, and we want to make you an offer. You 
say Staple ford taught you how to trap wild animals ?” 

“Yes,” replied Marco ; “all kinds.” 

“Good ! You are just the sort of chap we want. Say 
the word, and you shall join us. We have ample au- 
thority from our employer.” 

“Ach, yes ; we mean well,” added Hofstein. “You shall 
go with us to the jungles. Then, some day, we will sail 
to the United States. There it may be that you find your 
parents — that you uplift this mystery.” 

“Hofstein is right,” said Matlock. “You shall keep 
Selim, too. We will take good care of the beast.” 

Marco’s face brightened. 

“How can I thank you?” he cried, impulsively. “It 
would make Dan glad to know this. I accept your offer. 
I will work hard and faithfully for you.” 

He ratified the bargain by warmly shaking hands with 
Matlock and Hofstein. The good-hearted fellows were 
no less pleased than the lad. 

It required but a short time to arrange matters with 
the magistrate. Then Marco left the court with his new 
friends. 

From the Sepoy barracks, where they stopped to get 
Selim, they went to the suburb of Kidderpore. Here, on 
the bank of the Hooghly River, was a large warehouse 


i8 Marco Begins a New Life. 

belonging to the animal dealer. In this wild beasts were 
stored preparatory to shipping them. Matlock and Hol- 
stein, with a crops of native employees, had quarters in 
an adjoining building. 

That evening poor Stapleford was buried. Then, for 
the first time, Marco fully realized that a new life had 
opened before him. 


CHAPTER III. 


SENOR GARCIA APPEARS. 

A few days later the wild beast hunters left Calcutta 
for a neighborhood which Marco recommended. He had 
frequently been there with Stapleford. 

Most of the native employees remained at the ware- 
house, in charge of a few wild animals which had already 
been purchased. 

The party, at the time of starting, comprised Matlock, 
Hofstein, Marco, and two noted Hindoo ''shikarees,” or 
hunters. The names of the latter were Baba Khan and 
Gooloo Singh. They were powerful, bearded men, and 
had been in Carl Richter’s employ for many years. 

The journey was a short one — ^by the Peninsular Rail- 
way to Madhupur, and thence to Hazaribag, the terminus 
of a branch line. 

The party were now in the district of Chota Nagpur, 
presidency of Bengal. All around were mountains and 
dense jungles, the latter frequented by the famed Bengal 
tigers. 

Matlock’s special commission was to obtain a full- 
grown tiger. He hired a dozen native assistants in 
Hazaribag, and set the village carpenters to work build- 
ing strong cages. When these were ready, and supplied 
with spans of oxen, he moved ten miles south, and estab- 
lished a camp in the jungle. 


20 Senor Garcia Appears. 

Here began the serious work. Under Matlock’s super- 
vision, the natives dug pitfalls, and covered them with 
brush and leaves. They constructed huge traps, shaped 
like a mouse trap, and acting on the same principle. 
These took in a radius of half-a-dozen miles around. 

At the end of two weeks half of the cages were full. 
The pitfalls had yielded a young elephant and two buf- 
faloes, while a panther and a leopard were taken in the 
traps. 

As yet, no tiger had been seen, greatly to Matlock’s 
disappointment. But he was all the more resolved to ac- 
complish his purpose. He kept his hunters scouring the 
country in all directions. 

In the evenings, when work was over, all gathered 
about the camp-fires. Marco had many a long chat with 
his friends, and the feeling of good-comradeship be- 
tween them grew steadily. 

The conversation often turned on the lad’s early life. 
But he could remember no more than he had related be- 
fore the magistrate, and even that little was fading from 
his mind. 

About this time there happened an incident which 
Marco had good cause never to forget. 

One day a snake hunt was organized. 

Not far from camp was an open spot in the jungle, 
covered with rocks and tall, parched grass. 

Matlock stationed his party around this. The natives 
were provided with long poles, to which were attached 
hoops and bags. The implements were exactly like huge 
butterfly nets. 


21 


Senor Garcia Appears. 

The grass was set on fire, and immediately a swarm of 
ugly reptiles came hissing out. 

There was great excitement and scurrying to and fro. 
The snakes were pursued, and skillfully bagged. Gooloo 
Singh unluckily dropped his net. As he stooped to re- 
cover it a huge cobra rose erect in its coils from a rock 
cleft. 

That the Hindoo was not instantly bitten was little 
short of miraculous. But the reptile, possessed by some 
strange freak, did not strike. Its reared head was less 
than a foot from the man’s face. Its beady eyes sparkled, 
its tongue darted to and fro, and its spotted hood swelled 
out with anger. 

Gooloo Singh showed rare presence of mind. He re- 
mained in his crouching attitude, motionless as a statue. 
Not a muscle quivered, though his face turned an ashen 
color. He knew that the slightest move would mean 
death. His mental suffering must have been terrible. 

Thus man and reptile stood for half a minute. Then 
Marco, who was ten feet to one side, saw the Hindoo’s 
peril. He dared not step closer. There was only one 
chance. 

The lad had his net in one hand. With the other he 
drew a revolver from his belt. He cocked the weapon, 
and took careful aim. 

Crack ! The cobra fell in a mass of writhing coils, shot 
clean through the head. 

Gooloo Singh’s muscles relaxed, and he toppled over 
backward. The next instant he arose, as cool and im- 
passive as ever. 


22 


Senor Garcia Appears. 


“You save my life, Sahib Marco,’’ he said. “The cobra 
would have bitten me. Gooloo will not forget. He will 
be always your friend ja.nd slave.” 

“I’m much obliged for your friendship,” replied 
Marco, “but what I did was nothing to make a fuss about. 
It was an easy shot.” 

The Hindoo shrugged his shoulders, and picked up his 
net. The hunt went on as though nothing had hap- 
pened. But the others had seen the affair, and, when 
evening came, the lad’s modesty was put to a severe test. 

Twenty snakes were captured that day. They were at 
once packed in sacks of matting, and sent down to Cal- 
cutta. 

During the following week Gooloo Singh stuck to 
Marco like a faithful hound. He was constantly on the 
alert to guard him against harm. He rarely let him out 
of his sight. 

The tigers still eluded capture, and Matlock finally 
tired of his ill-luck. So, one morning, he started south 
on an expedition to a still wilder region. He took Gooloo 
Singh and half-a-dozen natives with him. 

Marco stayed at camp to tend Hofstein, who was down 
with a fever. 

On the forenoon of the day following Matlock’s de- 
parture, a native arrived with stirring news. He came 
from a village ten miles to the westward. 

He declared that a man-eating tiger was ravaging the 
neighborhood. The brute had been seen, and was a mag- 
nificent fellow, full-grown, and in the prime of life. He 
had killed several people, and many cattle and goats. 


Senor Garcia Appears. 


23 


“I knew you were in camp here, sahibs,” the man con- 
cluded, “and that you wished to take a tiger alive. So I 
came in haste.” 

Marco suggested sending a messenger after Matlock. 
But Hofstein was of a different mind. 

“There is no time to waste,” he said. “The tiger may 
go elsewhere. You must capture him, lad. You know 
what to do almost as well as Matlock. You must start at 
once with this fellow. Ach; it is hard luck, this fever. 
But I am better now. You need not fear to leave me.” 

At first Marco hesitated. Then, with secret exultation, 
he accepted the task. He chose Baba Khan and three 
natives to accompany him. 

They started as quickly as possible, taking along a cag^ 
filled with tools and material, and drawn by four bul- 
locks. 

The guide, whose name was Ram, conducted them by a 
very rugged and roundabout jungle road. 

The village was reached at sunset. It was in a state of 
terror. The people were afraid to venture outside their 
huts. Twenty-four hours before the tiger had carried off 
and devoured a poor grass-cutter. 

The night was spent in the village. At daybreak 
Marco hired extra natives to carry tools and lumber. 
Ram took the party to the spot where the gi*ass-cutter 
had been seized — a small jungle glade, half a mile from 
the village. Dried blood was visible on the grass. 

Nearby was a water-course. There v/as little doubt 
that the man-eater was sleeping in the vicinity. 

Under Marco’s directions, a stout trap was erected as 


24 


Senor Garcia Appears. 


noiselessly as possible. The lad and Baba Khan kept 
constant vigil with loaded rifles. 

At sunset the trap was finished. Inside the open door 
was fastened a good-sized goat, which was sure to bleat 
loudly through the night. 

Then Marco and his companions returned to the village. 

At the first streak of dawn they were up and on their 
way through the jungle. 

As they came in sight of the trap wild cheering burst 
forth. 

“We have him! we have him!” cried Ram. “At last 
the evil man-eater is caught.” 

“It must be true, sahib,” shouted Baba Khan. “The 
door is down.” 

Marco trembled for joy. He outdistanced the others, 
and was first to reach the trap. A deep, angry growl 
fell on his ears. He peeped through the crevices. 

Yes, there was the tiger, securely caged. He was a 
monstrous fellow, fat as butter, and with superb stripes. 
A prize indeed ! 

Then the natives had to look and comment. Their ma- 
hogany faces reflected the lad’s pleasure. 

With an air of vast importance, IMarco gave orders. 

“Bring the cage at once,” he said. “Don’t let the 
villagers follow you. Ram. They will only scare the 
tiger, and make the transfer difficult. All shall see him 
when we come that way. Baba Khan, you and I will 
stay here to watch the trap.” 

Ram and his followers obediently vanished. Half an 


25 


Senor Garcia Appears. 

hour after they returned with bullocks and cage. They 
had managed to persuade the people to remain at home. 

The cage was taken from the trucks, and pushed 
against the door of the trap. It was just then that an 
unexpected thing happened. 

Two men burst noisily from the jungle into the glade. 
One was a thin, scrawny native. The other was tall and 
muscular, with an evil, swarthy face, and features that 
proclaimed him to be a Portuguese. His beard was 
pointed, and the ends of his mustache were waxed. He 
wore blue flannels and hunting boots. He carried a rifle, 
and a leather bag was slung over his shoulder. 

A brief glance told the new arrivals what was going on. 
The face of the Portuguese clouded with vexation. He 
muttered an oath through his teeth. 

“Have you the man-eater there?” he demanded, ap- 
proaching Marco. 

“Yes,” replied the lad, proudly; “we trapped him last 
night.” 

“He is my property,” angrily declared the Portuguese. 
“I claim him. This fellow,” indicating the native, 
“brought news of the tiger to my camp last night. I 
came with him at once. We have been traveling for 
hours. Carramha! Shall I have my trouble for noth- 
ing? The man-eater is mine.” 

“But we had news of him two days ago,” exclaimed 
Marco, indignantly. “We were all of yesterday building 
the trap. You have no claim on the tiger, Senor Garcia.” 

The Portuguese started. 

“You know me?” he muttered. “Ah, yes; you are the 


26 


Senor Garcia Appears. 


lad who was with Staple ford in Calcutta. I have seen 
you there. But Stapleford is dead. Have you taken up 
the business for yourself?” 

There was a covert sneer in the last words. 

With an effort, Marco choked down his anger. He 
calmly told of his changed circumstances, and explained 
how he came to be in his present situation. All the time 
he trembled inwardly, for he knew the Portuguese to be 
a most unscrupulous rascal. 

Garcia listened with an evil smile. 

“You deserve your good fortune,” he said, “but I can 
offer you better. I still represent the Hamburg house, 
with headquarters at Madras. I have a temporary camp 
a few miles to the north. If you join me you shall have 
a princely salary. It is easily done. We take the tiger 
and go. What do you say?” 

Marco’s eyes flashed. 

“No!” he declared, firmly. “I am suited where I am. 
I am no traitor.” 

The Portuguese laughed harshly, and a devilish look 
came on his face. He opened the leather bag, and 
showed it to be full of coins. 

“I offer you a bonus of one hundred rupees,” he said, 
“payable on the spot.” 

“I refuse!” thundered Marco. “Put up your money. 
I am not to be bought.” 

Garcia scowled. But he had more than one string to 
his bow. He held up a double handful of shiny coins. 
Shrewdly choosing out Baba Khan, he turned to him, and 
said: 


27 


Senor Garcia Appears. 

“Twenty-five rupees for you, and five apiece for the 
others. It is a splendid offer, my good fellows. I want 
the tiger. All you need do is to drive him to my camp. 
The cage shall be returned to its owner. Those of you 
who are of this lad’s party can remain with me, if you 
wish. I will pay you well.” 

The munificence of the offer dazzled the natives. Baba 
Khan, treacherous rascal that he was, yielded first. He 
held out his hands for the promised reward. His eyes 
glittered at every clink of the coins. 

The depth of Marco’s nature was never fully stirred 
until that moment. The perfidy of his followers and the 
baseness of the Portuguese roused him to an uncon- 
trollable pitch of anger. 

He sprang suddenly forward. With one hand he 
pushed Baba Khan so forcibly to one side that a shower 
of rupees fled in all directions; with the other he struck 
Garcia violently in the face ! 

“You scoundrel !” he cried. “Let my men alone !” 


\ 





CHAPTER IV. 


NIGHT IN THE JUNGLE. 

A brief interval of utter silence followed Marco’s dar- 
ing attack. 

As Baba Khan slowly arose, the bewildered expression 
on his face was ludicrous to see. Garcia wiped a few 
drops of blood from his nose, and swore a frightful oath. 
Then he lifted his rifle to strike down Marco, who was 
standing with flashing eyes and heaving bosom. 

The lad stepped quickly to one side. He swung his 
own weapon over his shoulder, ready to meet the threat- 
ened attack. 

'‘Keep off !” he cried. “I warn you in time.” 

That instant he felt his rifle jerked out of his hands. 
Baba Khan had treacherously crept up behind the lad. 

Marco was now defenseless. 

The Portuguese came on, his swarthy face hideous and 
distorted with passion. The desire for revenge made 
him ferocious. He aimed a blow at the lad. 

But, by a clever twist, Marco dodged the descending 
rifle. He cast one glance at the perfidious natives, and 
instantly abandoned all hope of aid from that quarter. 

There was but one chance left. He turned, and dashed 
at full speed across the glade. 

“Stop him !” roared Garcia. “Stop him ! Fifty rupees 
to the man who captures the boy !” 


29 


Night in the Jungle. 

Marco heard the words, and the greedy cries that fol- 
lowed. They merely spurred him to greater efforts. A 
rifle-ball whistled overhead; then another, and another. 
Now he plunged into the friendly shelter of the jungle. 

Fortunately, Marco’s adventurous life in the past six 
years had trained him to scientific running. He ran on 
and on as rapidly as the tangled vegetation would per- 
mit. Frequently he twisted to right or left. 

At intervals he heard the trampling and shouting of 
his pursuers, now in one direction, now in another. He 
was presently satisfied that they had him surrounded. 
So he did a wise thing. He crawled on his stomach into 
a clump of dense grass, and found a safe hiding-place be- 
tween two stones. 

Here the young fugitive lay for three or four hours. 
He heard his enemies scouring the neighborhood. Fre- 
quently they came near the spot. Once the Portuguese 
and Baba Khan passed by the clump of grass. 

Marco feared the beating of his heart would betray 
him. 

“Fm as good as dead if I fall into Garcia’s clutches,” 
he reflected. “The ruffian would kill me without mercy. 
His object is to prevent me from getting back to camp, 
and telling what has happened.” 

But the sounds of pursuit gradually died away. Marco 
waited another hour, and then ventured to leave his hid- 
ing-place. 

His situation was now deplorable. He was in the 
midst of a dark and tangled jungle, infested by wild 


30 Night in the Jungle. 

beasts and serpents. He had no food and no weapons, 
having lost his pistol in his flight. 

But the lad’s inborn pluck kept him in good heart. In- 
deed, he was too angry and indignant to think of any- 
thing but how to turn the tables on his foes. 

^‘We’ll see who gets the tiger in the end,” he muttered. 
“By this time Garcia and his hired traitors have made off 
with cage and animal. First of all, I must make a bee- 
line for camp. I know what Matlock will do. Garcia 
and that sneak Baba Khan will feel pretty sore before we 
get through with them.” 

But the very first obstacle that clogged the lad’s plan 
was how to get started on the beeline. The gloom of the 
jungle was like that of twilight. Overhead was an un- 
broken sheet of matted foliage. A gray glimmer filtered 
through — that was all. 

However, after wandering about for twenty minutes, 
Marco found a good-sized tree. He climbed above the 
foliage, and caught a glimpse of the sun. Its position 
indicated several hours after midday. 

The lad knew that there was no time to lose. He had 
his bearings now, and, climbing down from the tree, he 
struck off briskly. 

For hours he plodded the mazy recesses of the jungle. 
An occasional glimpse of the sun kept him from going 
astray. 

As darkness came on he realized that it was out of the 
question to reach the camp that night. The bravest of 
men would have quailed from the perils that encom- 
passed the lad. 


Night in the Jungle. 31 

Twilight brought the beasts of the jungle out from 
their lairs. 

The wail of a leopard was answered by a tiger’s thun- 
derous roar. A huge serpent rustled by with a hissing 
noise. Far ahead a troop of elephants went crashing 
and trumpeting on their way to a jungle pool. 

Marco shivered as he stumbled on in the gloom. His 
only hope was to find a tree tall and stout enough to 
afford him a safe shelter until morning. 

Some dry twigs crackled behind him. He fancied 
that he heard stealthy footsteps, and ran blindly and 
madly. 

It was an awful race. Stones bruised him, and thorny 
bushes lacerated his hands and face. Sword-grass cut 
like knives into his flesh. A dozen times he fell head- 
long; a dozen times he rose and staggered on. 

Suddenly his feet encountered something soft and 
yielding. He felt himself sinking, and threw up his arms 
with a shrill cry. 

Then down he went — down through empty space. 
Crash ! he landed heavily on his head and shoulders. His 
brain reeled, and consciousness left him. 

Marco returned to sensibility as one who wakes from a 
troubled sleep. He remembered all, but he could form no 
idea as to how long a time had elapsed since the accident. 

He pulled himself to his feet, and found no bones 
broken. His back was sore, and his head ached. He was 
keenly alive to the pangs of hunger and thirst. 

The next thing was to discover where he was. His 
eyes quickly became accustomed to the gloom. 


32 


Night in the Jungle. 

The problem was easily solved. He had stumbled 
into a native pitfall intended to catch tigers. 

All around lay the brush and bamboo covering which 
he had brought down in his fall. 

The pit was ten feet deep, and about twelve square. 
It contained six upright and jagged stakes. Marco won- 
dered how he had escaped being impaled on one of these. 

He made several futile attempts to climb up the smooth, 
perpendicular sides of his prison. Then he concluded 
that he was better off where he was. 

“It’s not a bad place to spend the night,” he reflected. 
“Wild animals are not likely to get me here.” 

He gathered a double armful of brush, and was about 
to carry it to the corner of the pit, when he heard a 
wheezy, shuffling noise. 

He dropped his burden, and looked up. A bar of 
moonlight had just filtered through the jungle, and the 
silvery halo revealed to him a fearful sight. 

On the very brink of the pit stood a monstrous tiger, 
as immovable as though carved in brass. His eyes, like 
living coals, stared into the lad’s own. 

For a full minute neither uttered a sound. Marco’s 
heart was beating like a trip-hammer. 

Then the tiger opened his great jaws, and gave forth a 
roar that seemed to shake the jungle. 

Marco dashed in fright to the opposite side of the pit. 
The tiger instantly circled around. It was plainly 
ravenous with hunger, and determined to make a meal of 
the lad. 

For ten minutes Marco dodged from side to side of the 


Nigkt in the Jungle. 33 

pit, the tiger following tenaciously, roaring at every few 
steps. 

Marco wondered how the chase would end. He was 
fast losing strength and courage. In vain he uttered 
shout after shout. His voice seemed only to increase the 
brute’s anger. 

Five minutes went by. Suddenly the tiger crouched 
for a spring. His long body quivered. 

Marco sped to the far side of the pit. He had just 
time to turn to the left, when he saw a yellow mass whizz 
through the air. 

Down came the tiger, plump on two of the jagged 
stakes. It was impaled in the neck and hind quarters. 

From a distance, Marco looked on, both fascinated and 
alarmed by the sight. 

For half-a-minute the brute struggled in the throes of 
an awful death agony. Its roars echoed and re-echoed 
through the jungle. 

Just as the majestic head dropped limply, and the last 
roar ended in a quaver, a second huge, striped beast ap- 
peared on the brink of the pit — evidently the mate of the 
dead tiger. 

Just as evidently the tigress knew what had befallen 
her lord, just as evidently she was bent on vengeance. 

She fixed her eyes on Marco, and roared with grief 
and rage ; then pattered around and around the pit, seek- 
ing for a place to descend. 


CHAPTER V. 


IN THE NOOSE OF A THUG. 

Marco now felt that he was lost. He had successfully 
gotten rid of one tiger, but could he hope to do so with 
the other ? 

The female animal was more wary and crafty. She 
would probably find a way to reach her victim, and at 
the same time avoid the stakes. 

As the moon crept higher a broader light shone on the 
edges of the pit. The tigress was a large and beautiful 
animal. Marco could not help admiring her, hard- 
pressed though he was to keep at the furthest possible 
distance from her huge head and paws. 

He slipped from side to side, always keeping a couple 
of the stakes between him and his enemy. He tried to 
pull one of them up, thinking it would make him a good 
weapon, but it was driven too deeply into the ground. 

Meanwhile the rage of the tigress increased. She 
roared loud and often. A chorus of answers came from 
the prowling animals of the jungle. 

Marco was badly scared, but not sufficiently so to lose 
his presence of mind. He watched every movement of 
the tigress. Now and then he made a trumpet of his 
hands, and shouted as loudly as he could. He had a faint 
hope that there might be a village within hearing. 


35 


In the Noose of a Thug. 

All at once the tigress stopped. She squatted on her 
hind legs, and thrust her head and forepaw over the brink 
of the pit — ^just like a great cat. 

Her eyes flashed fire at the lad; her double rows of 
ivories gleamed in the moonlight. Now she crept a little 
nearer. Her purpose was to drop lightly into the pit. 

Marco retreated behind the furthest stakes. Trem- 
bling in every limb, he waited the end. An irresistible 
fascination kept his eyes on the tigress — on the great 
jaws which he felt would shortly tear him limb from 
limb. 

A few seconds went by. To the doomed lad they 
seemed so many hours. 

Just as the beast quivered for the leap a crackling of 
brush was heard, and a yellow light flashed over the pit. 

What followed seemed but a dream to Marco. He 
saw the tigress wheel around and vanish. He heard 
hoarse shouts, blended with a fearful roar. A rifle 
cracked twice. Another roar, and all was still. 

Now the flashing light approached the pit. An arm 
appeared, holding a blazing torch. Two dusky faces 
looked down at Marco. They belonged to Baba Khan 
and the scrawny, evil-eyed servant of the Portuguese. 

Marco uttered a glad cry. At such a time the sight of 
even Garcia himself would have been welcome. What 
mattered that he was a prisoner. He had just escaped a 
horrible death. 

Baba Khan took off his kummerbund — a long silken 
sash — and let it down into the pit. Marco quickly noosed 
it around him, and was drawn safely up. 


36 In the Noose of a Thug. 

The first thing that he saw was the dead body of the 
tigress lying a few yards away. Then he turned to his 
rescuers, and noted with uneasiness the sinister expres- 
sion of their faces. 

‘T came near making a meal for tigers,” he said. “You 
reached here just in time. Are you going back to camp 
with me, Baba Khan?” 

The Hindoo scowled, and glanced at his companion. 

“If you do, I will make your peace with Matlock,” re- 
sumed Marco. “He will forgive all when he hears how 
you saved my life.” 

“The sahib must die,” replied Baba Khan, with brutal 
frankness. “The Portuguese sahib has said it. I am his 
servant now. I hate Sahib Matlock. Once he beat me.” 

The Hindoo’s eyes flashed at the recollection. 

Marco felt a sickening thrill of horror. He realized 
his awful plight. There seemed no escape. Both his 
captors were armed. As yet, he was too weak to risk a 
dash into the jungle. 

For an instant his brain was busy. He must gain time 
at all hazards. 

“How did you find me?” he asked, with forced com- 
posure. 

“Gunpat is a jungle fellow,” replied the Hindoo, point- 
ing to the scrawny native. “He has the scent of a jackal 
and the eyes of a serpent. The Portuguese sahib sent us 
on your trail. He bade us kill you, and bring back your 
head as a proof.” 

“Dead men betray not the living,” croaked Gunpat, in 
an evil voice. “It is Vv^ritten that you must die, sahib.” 


Ill tlie Noose of a Thug. 37 

He glanced eagerly at Baba Khan, as though expecting 
a signal. 

]\Iarco shuddered. He knew that the ruffians would 
do anything for greed of gold. But life was sweet, and 
he hated to yield it up to this pair of hired assassins. 

^‘If you murder me your crime will be discovered,” he 
cried, hoarsely. “I appeal to you to save me. Baba Khan. 
I have never done you an injury. Take me back to my 
friends, and I swear that you shall receive as many 
rupees as you demand.” 

The Hindoo obstinately shook his head, and Marco 
knew that further pleading would be useless. He drew 
a long breath, and glanced despairingly at the sur- 
rounding jungle. Then he nerved himself for a bold 
dash. 

But Baba Khan divined what was passing in the lad’s 
mind. He suddenly dropped his rifle, and seized Marco 
from behind, pinning his arms together. 

Marco struggled desperately, and made the jungle 
ring with his shrill cries. But he was like a child in the 
grasp of the powerful Hindoo. He grew weaker and 
weaker. 

“The rope, Gunpat,” cried Baba Khan. “Be quick!” 

From the folds of his blouse the native produced a thin 
lariat of hide, with a running noose at the end. 

Marco shrieked with horror. By a peculiar daub of 
red ocher on Gunpat’s breast, he recognized him as a 
Thug — one of that dreaded class of stranglers who have 
plied their nefarious vocation in India for centuries. 

A hideous smile lighted up Gunpat’s evil face. He 


38 In tlie Noose of a Thug. 

stuck his torch in the ground, and approached with the 
rope. 

Marco made a frantic effort to escape. In vain ! The 
slimy noose slipped over his head. He felt it tightening 
around his throat. He tried to shout, but it ended in a 
choking gurgle. 

Crack ! a red flash, and the shrill report of a rifle came 
from the jungle to the right. 

Gunpat dropped the end of the lariat, on which he was 
pulling. With a gasping cry, he bounded in air, clutch- 
ing at his naked breast. He fell in a limp heap on the 
edge of the pit, and plunged over. A sharp stake instantly 
spitted his body, but he was dead before he felt the pain. 

Baba Khan saw the Thug’s fate. He glanced in the 
direction whence the shot had come. Then he let go of 
Marco, and took to his heels, not even pausing to snatch 
his rifle. 

Crack! crack! two bullets whistled after him. But he 
ran like a madman, and vanished in the gloom. 

Marco stood for a second or two in dazed surprise. 

Then a tall, dusky figure in a white turban and waist 
cloth bounded into the radius of torchlight. It was the 
faithful Gooloo Singh. He held a smoking rifle in his 
hand. 

He embraced the lad in a frenzy of delight, and tore 
the noose off his neck. 

“Thank God!” cried Marco. “I can scarcely believe 
that I am alive, Gooloo. What a night I have had ! But 
where are the others ?” 

“They are encamped in the jungle at no great distance,’^ 


39 


In the Noose of a Thug. 

replied the Hindoo. “I will tell you all, sahib. We re- 
turned from our hunt at midday, having had no luck. 
When we heard that you had gone in search of a tiger, 
Sahib Matlock prepared to follow. We started shortly, 
and traveled until sundown. I refused to stop. I feared 
you would encounter danger. I came on alone ” 

“You faced the perils of the jungle at night to save 
me ?” interrupted Marco. 

“It was nothing, sahib. Something told me to come. 
When I heard your cries I put out my torch, and crept 
nearer. I saw the assassins about to murder you. I 
shot one, and the other fled.” 

“How can I thank you?” exclaimed Marco. “Your 
faithfulness saved my life.” 

“The sahib forgets the cobra,” quietly replied Gooloo. 
“I am always your slave. My life is yours, sahib.” 

Marco was deeply touched; but he refrained from 
further expressions of gratitude, seeing that they were 
distasteful to the Hindoo. 

He briefly told the thrilling story of his adventures, 
and even Gooloo’s stolidity gave way to unmeasured in- 
dignation. He invoked the wrath of his gods on the 
Portuguese and the perfidious natives. 

After glancing at the tigers and the body of the vile 
Thug, Marco and his rescuer started for the distant camp. 
The lad took possession of Baba Khan’s rifle. 

It was a long and weary tramp. There was little 
danger to be apprehended, since a blazing torch kept the 
wild animals off. 


40 


In the Noose of a Thug. 

Marco could not have traveled without assistance. 
Gooloo’s strong arms supported him all the way. 

They reached the camp shortly after midnight, and 
were welcomed by Matlock and his force of eight natives. 
Hofstein was better, but he had remained behind in charge 
of the main camp. 

Marco’s story roused Matlock to a pitch of fury that 
was foreign to his usually placid nature. He finally 
quieted down sufficiently to hold a consultation with his 
companions, and decide on a plan of action. 

Marco’s hunger and thirst were satisfied, and then he 
fell soundly asleep in a snug corner of the tent. It was 
considered advisable to remain in camp until morning. 

At the first flush of dawn the little party were oflf, 
bound on an expedition to recover the stolen tiger, and to 
punish the Portuguese and the treacherous natives. 

They traveled rapidly, since it was expected that Baba 
Khan had long since reached Garcia’s camp, and put him 
on his guard. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE FIGHT IN THE RAVINE. 

Two hours after daybreak the village where Marco and 
his party had stopped while the tiger trap was being con- 
structed was reached. 

Here a search was made for Ram and his treacherous 
companions. Matlock’s blood was up, and he wanted to 
punish everybody. 

But not one of the natives who had assisted Garcia 
could be found. All had probably taken service with the 
Portuguese. 

Matters now looked serious, for Matlock’s party were 
but eleven in number. 

The head man of the village, quite an intelligent fellow, 
was at first very stiff and uncommunicative. 

But a gift of ten rupees had a marvelous effect. He 
found a guide who knew the way to Garcia’s camp, and 
in less than half an hour he recruited a dozen natives, 
armed with matchlocks and spears. Pie declared that the 
men would fight like tigers if promised a few annas 
apiece. 

This welcome addition raised Matlock’s force to 
twenty-two. Four of his own natives were armed with 
rifles, as were also himself, Marco and Gooloo Singh. 

In very unmilitary fashion, the savage-looking band 
straggled out of the village. 


42 


The Fight in the Ravine. 

They found the tiger trap in ruins. From here the 
heavy wheel marks of the stolen cage were easily fol- 
lowed. 

After marching steadily along a tangled jungle path for 
three hours or more, a vast open space was reached, much 
trampled, and scarred by fires. It was Garcia’s deserted 
camp. 

“This is the devil’s own luck !” cried Matlock. “The 
scoundrel has fled.” 

Gooloo Singh made a careful examination of the 
ground. 

“They have been on the march but a short time,” he re- 
ported. “Behold, sahib ! Some of the fires are smoking, 
and the wheel marks are fresh.’! 

“Then on at full speed!” roared Matlock. “A rupee 
apiece, men, if \ye overtake this ruffian.” 

For such a sum the natives would have braved any- 
thing. They pressed along the trail on a dogcart, ob- 
livious to heat or fatigue. 

Matlock felt more hopeful with every step. The much- 
trampled road indicated that Garcia’s party were bur- 
dened with numerous cages. Surely they could not long 
keep the lead. 

Shortly after midday, while Matlock, Gooloo Singh and 
Marco were marching at the head of the force, an evil- 
looking native sprang into the road sixty feet beyond 
them. He uttered a yell, and dashed off at full speed. 

Matlock hastily took aim and fired. But the fellow es- 
caped injury, and speedily vanished around a bend. 


The Fight in the Ravine. 43 

'‘He is a spy, sahib,” cried Gooloo Singh. “He was 
put here to watch. The Portuguese is not far distant.” 

The news passed along the line, and every man girded 
himself for the fight. They advanced at a rapid gait. 

Five minutes later the jungle ended on the verge of a 
strip of grassy plain, half a mile across. 

Beyond lay a range of low, heavily-timbered foothills. 

And right in the center of the plain was a thrilling 
sight — a string of seven stout cages mounted on wheels. 
The drivers were furiously lashing the bullocks, and urg- 
ing them to a mad gallop. Alongside and in the rear ran 
nearly a score of natives. 

Garcia’s figure was visible in front, mounted on a horse. 
With him were several white companions, no doubt 
Portuguese. 

“Faster ! faster !” cried Matlock. “The rascals are aim- 
ing for the hills. We must overtake them in the open.” 

With hoarse yells the pursuers dashed over the plain. 
They steadily gained on the enemy. 

Gooloo Singh stuck by Marco’s side, and urged the lad 
to be careful. 

“I won’t stay at the tail end of the fight, if that’s what 
you mean,'* cried Marco, a little indignantly. “Every 
rifle is needed, and I know how to use mine.” 

“Beware of Baba Khan and the Portuguese,” urged the 
Hindoo. 

“Those are just the rascals I want to meet,” replied the 
lad. “Never you fear, Gooloo, Fll be careful.” 

Further conversation was impossible. The hostile 
bands were now within rifleshot, and a lively fire opened. 


44 The Fight in the Ravine. 

Bullets whistled overhead, and puffs of smoke drifted over 
the grass. 

Garcia’s band fell to the rear of the cages, which were 
now moving at a slower pace. 

The Portuguese seemed to bear a charmed life. 
Though a target for countless bullets, he continued to ride 
to and fro. 

Now the enemy made a forward rush, shooting as they 
came. So fierce was the onset that Matlock’s party fell 
back, losing two men. 

A ball carried Marco’s cap from his head, and grazed 
Gooloo Singh’s shoulder. 

Matlock, whose rage made him fearless, was shot 
through the fleshy part of the left arm. He quickly bound 
up the wound, and turned, with angry threats, to his 
followers. 

The panic was soon allayed. The natives came to a 
standstill, and reloaded their weapons. 

But by this time the enemy were retreating as swiftly 
as they had come. The temporary cessation of hostilities 
gave them the chance they wanted. They swarmed 
around the cages and urged the bullocks at full speed 
toward the near-lying hills. 

“Two rupees if we overtake them,” thundered Mat- 
lock. “Two rupees, men ! Let me see how you can 
fight.” 

With wild cheering, the motley horde followed their 
three leaders, not stopping to pick up the dead. Slowly, 
but surely, they gained on the foe. The rifles began to 
crack again. 


Tlie Fight in the Ravine. 45 

On went the wheeled cages, careening from side to side 
of the rugged path. The hills were now very near. 

Suddenly, the hindmost cage hit some obstruction, and 
went over with a crash. It burst apart, and out leaped 
a huge panther. 

The beast seized an unlucky native by the throat, bit 
the life out of him, and then vanished in the tall grass. 

This accident caused delay and confusion. While the 
bullocks were being cut loose from the overturned cage, 
Matlock’s party gained considerably on the foe. 

"‘Now we have them,” he cried. “A bold rush will 
scatter the rascals like sheep. Aim low, men, and don’t 
waste your powder.” 

But just then Garcia was seen to give hurried instruc- 
tions to his followers. A line of natives, a dozen strong, 
spread out to right and left. 

The object of this move was quickly apparent. Here 
and there curls of thick, yellowish smoke. An instant 
later a sheet of crackling, raging flames was rolling 
toward Matlock’s band. 

The enemy were no longer visible, but from behind the 
fire and smoke rang savage cries of triumph. 

A soft breeze was blowing from the hills. It fanned 
the flames onward, and to right and left. The red line 
advanced, consuming the dry, parched grass with amaz- 
ing rapidity. For a moment there seemed no escape. 
The natives huddled together in helpless panic. To ad- 
vance was out of the question. They would speedily be 
overtaken by the flames if they tried to reach the jungle. 


46 


The Tight in the Ravine. 

Marco’s stout heart quailed at such awful peril. On 
Matlock’s face was an expression of grim despair. 

Then, with a ringing shout and a gesture, he drew his 
companions around him. He pointed to the left, where 
the line of fire could be seen to terminate in a yellow vail 
of smoke. 

'Tt’s our only chance,” he thundered. “We must cir- 
cle around the flames. Follow me, and don’t drop your 
weapons. We will have these ruffians yet.” 

His voice and manner inspired confidence. Every man 
was at his heels as he dashed through the tall grass. 
Gooloo Singh clutched Marco’s arm, and aided him to 
run. 

It was a frightful race, for the issue was uncertain. 
Clouds of smoke hovered over the imperiled little band. 
They breathed heated air and sparks. 

But they plunged on hopefully, guided by Matlock’s tall 
figure. Just when an agonizing death seemed most sure, 
they staggered out from the smoky curtain and waded 
knee-deep across a pool of water. 

On the farther side they paused, and watched the flames 
race by. 

Then every eye turned to the plain. It was empty. 
The last cage was just vanishing in a narrow defile be- 
tween two of the foothills. 

“Too late !” cried Marco. “It will take an army to 
drive them from that position.” 

“Not so, lad,” declared Matlock. “We have force 
enough to do it. But we must act at once, and take the 


The Fight in the Ravine. 47 

dogs by surprise. They will hardly be expecting an at- 
tack now. What think you, Gooloo Singh?” 

“It is good, sahib,” replied the Hindoo. “Surely we 
will have no better chance. There is much danger, but if 
all can be relied upon ” 

“I will see to that,” interrupted Matlock. 

Turning to the natives, he added: 

“We are going to storm yonder mountain pass, my 
brave fellows. I rely on you to fight well, and earn your 
rupees. If you show a bold front, the enemy will run.” 

He was answered by approving shouts. The grim, de- 
termined faces of the men showed that they could be re- 
lied upon. 

There was a hasty loading of weapons, and looking to 
small arms. Then a score of dusky figures trotted for- 
ward over the charred and smoking plain. 

They struck the base of the hill a few yards this side 
of the pass. A moment later they were swarming up the 
narrow, rugged defile, between walls of rock and tangled 
scrub. 

The path twisted to right and left, and was visible for 
but a short distance, owing to jutting angles of rock and 
timber. It was barely wide enough to have admitted the 
cages. 

Amid dead, ominous silence, the attacking party ad- 
vanced. 

Suddenly, from the turn above, a heavy rifle fire and a 
shower of spears was poured down the ravine. 

One man fell, but before the others could lose heart at 
the sight, Matlock’s order to charge rang shrill and clear. 


48 


The Fight in the Ravine. 


Straight up the road surged the plucky band, shooting 
and yelling as they went. Swarming around the curve, 
they came face to face with the enemy. Neither Garcia 
nor Baba Kahn were visible. 

A hand-to-hand fight ensued. Cries of rage and agony 
blended with the thud of clubbed rifles, the swish of cut- 
lasses, and the firing of revolvers. 

Marco was carried away by excitement. He struck 
right and left at the savage faces. Gooloo Singh kept a 
watchful eye upon him. 

Finally the foe wavered and broke. They fled up the 
road, leaving half-a-dozen dead behind. 

Matlock’s plucky band followed, maddened with tri- 
umph and the lust of blood. Their savage cries re-echoed 
through the hills. 

Now a sharp curve brought the cages into view. They 
were drawn up by the base of a steep cliff. On the oppo- 
site side, the road ended on the verge of a precipice. 
Sixty feet below a mountain torrent roared and foamed. 

In this perilous spot occurred the most desperate fight- 
ing. The fleeing foes turned at bay. They were in- 
stantly reinforced by the remnant of the band, among 
whom were Baba Khan, Garcia and two other Portuguese. 

The tumult was deafening. A mist of powder smoke 
hung over the scene. The issue of the struggle was 
doubtful. 

Marco and Gooloo Singh found themselves in a circle 
of foes. The lad struck down a burly native, and the 
blow split his rifle in two. He had hardly drawn his re- 
volver, when a stone knocked the weapon from his hand. 


49 


The Fight in the Ravine. 

‘'Take this, sahib,” cried Gooloo Singh, thrusting a 
short cutlass into his companion’s grasp. At the same 
instant he tore a spear from one of the enemy, and im- 
mediately ran the fellow through the heart. 

Marco had his work cut out for him. He slashed one 
antagonist across the head, and another in the arm. 

He reeled slightly as a stone bruised his shoulder. 
Then he lifted his cutlass to strike at a new enemy, who 
had suddenly crowded forward. 

This was none other than the treacherous Baba Khan. 
His evil face blazed with hatred and triumph. 

“Die, dog of a sahib !” he cried, as he aimed a pistol at 
Marco. 

Quick as lightning the lad’s cutlass flashed. It 
knocked the pistol upward, so that it was discharged 
in the air. The keen blade went farther, and laid open 
Baba Khan’s cheek. 

With a cry of rage, the Hindoo sprang forward and 
seized Marco in his burly arms. They fell together, 
and the lad made a desperate struggle against his pow- 
erful antagonist. 

Unconsciously they rolled to the outer edge of the 
path, and before either realized the danger, they 
plunged over the dizzy precipice! 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE FATE OF BABA KHAN. 

Nine times out of ten a fall over the cliff at this point 
would have meant certain death. 

The rocks dropped sheerly down for thirty feet. 
Then came an almost equally steep slope of loose stones, 
undergrowth and young timber, terminating at the tor- 
rent. 

Marco and Baba Khan shot through the air, and 
landed in a dense clump of bushes part way down the 
slope. The Hindoo was undermost, and received the 
most violent shock. Both were badly stunned. In a 
half-unconscious state they bounced out of the bushes 
and rolled swiftly toward the base of the hill. 

They clung fast to each other as they revolved from 
stone to stone, from one clump of undergrowth to 
another. 

Bruised and bleeding, they reached the brink of the 
stream. With a tremendous • splash they plunged head- 
first into a deep, circular pool of icy water, above and 
below which a fierce current brawled and foamed amid 
jagged rocks. 

The shock of the cold bath had a reviving effect on 
both. Marco struggled free of his enemy and c^me to 
the surface. 


The Fate of Baba Khan. 


51 


A second later Baba Khan’s head bobbed up a little 
to one side. The gaping wound on his cheek gave him 
a horrible appearance. He glared at Marco in a frenzy 
of hatred. 

“Dog of a sahib!” he snarled; ‘T will have your life!” 

With vigorous strokes he swam toward the lad. 

Marco was also a good swimmer. He turned and 
made for the side of the pool, hoping to climb out on 
shore and elude his enemy. 

But neither had given a thought to an unforeseen 
force that lurked beneath the placid water. A fierce 
undertow suddenly seized its victims with a grip from 
which there was no escape. 

First Marco was sucked through a narrow gap at the 
lower end of the pool ; the Hindoo followed at an inter- 
val of half-a-dozen feet, struggling wildly to stem the 
current. Then both were tossed like corks from wave 
to wave as they shot down the foamy stretch of the 
torrent. 

It was just at this critical moment that Gooloo Singh, 
who had been hard pressed by the enemy, gained a 
moment’s breathing spell by dispatching two of his foes. 

He instantly discovered Marco’s absence. At first 
he feared the lad was killed. He ran to and fro among 
the dead bodies, exposing himself to fearful risks from 
the enemy. 

Suddenly he caught sight of a belt lying on the outer 
edge of the path and recognized it as Marco’s. 

With a cry of despair he hastened to the brink of the 
cliff. Far down in the ravine he saw two figures strug- 


52 


The Fate of Baba Khan. 


gling for life among the boiling cascades of the torrent. 
The distance was too great for recognition, but he knew 
that one was Marco. 

The faithful Hindoo turned his back on the fight and 
ran along the precipice for twenty yards. 

Here he found what he was looking for — a spot where 
the cliff fell at a moderate angle and was broken by pro- 
jecting crags and tufts of stout grass. 

With a long spear grasped in one hand he made his 
way down the dizzy incline, clutching at everything that 
offered the least support. 

He safely reached the lower slope of stones and 
undergrowth. Down this he plunged at reckless speed, 
and gained the side of the torrent. 

Meanwhile, how fared it with Marco and Baba Khan ? 

The lad had all he could do to save himself from 
drowning; the enemy behind him was temporarily for- 
gotten. 

He whirled on and on, now high on the crest of the 
picture waves, now deep under the hissing water. 

In vain were his frantic struggles. He was as help- 
less as an infant. Again and again he collided roughly 
with submerged rocks. Each second promised to be 
his last. 

Just when the agony of suffocation had begun he was 
flung high in the air by a mighty wave. 

Like a flash, he saw a jagged bowlder close ahead. 
He reached blindly out, and seized it with both arms. 

For a few seconds he held fast in spite of the angry 
buffeting of the waves. Then a little strength returned, 


The Fate of Baba Khan. 


53 

and he was in the act of pulling himself to a safer posi- 
tion when Baba Khan came swirling along. 

The Hindoo saw the rock, and grabbed at it. He 
swung alongside of Marco. Clinging tight with one 
hand he lifted the other and struck the lad brutally in 
the face. 

'‘Down, you dog!” he shrieked. “Down!” 

At the third blow Marco slipped from the rock. With 
a cry of despair ringing on his lips, he was swept away 
by the merciless waves. 

He heard Baba Khan’s mocking laugh. Then began 
another battle for life. Up and down he tossed amid 
churning foam and spray. 

But his strength was leaving him, and the torrent was 
growing wilder and swifter. 

Suddenly, when hope was at an end, he spied another 
jutting rock to the right of the channel. 

The current swung him that way, and almost by a 
miracle he caught it. He clung fast with both arms, 
and gradually gained a secure kneehold. 

Marco’s chances were now good. Between the rock 
and the bank the stream lay a comparatively quiet eddy. 

“As soon as I get a little strength,” he said to him- 
self, “I can wade to shore.” 

Suddenly he remembered Baba Khan. He glanced 
up the channel, and was horrified to see the Hindoo in 
the very act of scrambling out on the bank. He had 
safely stemmed the intervening strip of waves. 

Before Marco could make an effort to wade across 
the eddy the blood-thirsty ruffian was limping toward 


54 


The Fate of Baba Khan. 


him with eager strides. On the way he stopped to pick 
lip a jagged stone of many pounds’ weight. 

A cold shiver ran through the lad’s exhausted frame. 
He was face to face with death. Not a ray of hope 
remained. 

A few yards below him the stream plunged down a 
slanting reef of rocks and lost itself in a boiling, funnel- 
shaped whirlpool. So to let go the rock and trust him- 
self once more to the current would be nothing short of 
suicide. 

Baba Khan had now reached a spot on the rugged 
shore directly opposite his intended victim. His dusky 
and mangled face shown alone with vindictive triumph. 

“At last, dog of a sahib,” he hissed, as he lifted the 
huge stone with both hands, “you are in my power. 
Nothing can save you. Your crushed body will feed 
the whirlpool yonder.” 

“Mercy!” pleaded Marco. “Have mercy! Don’t kill 
me!” 

Baba Khan laughed mockingly. 

“A lakh of rupees would not purchase your life!” he 
snarled. “The spirit of Gunpat the Thug calls for ven- 
geance. Die! Die!” 

With keen enjoyment of his victim’s torture the Hin- 
doo held the engine of death poised for an instant. 

That brief respite saved Marco. Suddenly, from 
some unseen point, a long spear whizzed through the 
air. 

With unerring aim the barb pierced Baba Khan’s back, 
and came out between his ribs. The stone fell from his 


The Fate of Baba Khan. 55 

nerveless hands. He uttered a gurgling cry, and toppled 
head first into the water. 

The current rolled the dusky body to the verge of the 
whirlpool, where it was instantly sucked down into the 
churning depths ! 


CHAPTER VIIL 


HOW THE FIGHT ENDED. 

The tragedy was over like a flash. Marco had scarcely 
time to realize his good fortune when Gooloo Singh 
came leaping down over the rocks to the edge of the 
torrent. 

With a cry of joy, the faithful Hindoo plunged into the 
eddy, breasted his way to the rock, and dragged the lad 
safely to the bank. His eyes flashed exultantly as he 
glanced at the boiling waves amid which Baba Kahn’s 
body had disappeared. 

For a moment or two Marco lay helpless on a patch of 
soft grass, looking unutterable gratitude at his preserver. 
Then his strength partially returned, and he sat up. 

“I owe you my life twice over,” he said, huskily. 
“This last was the closest shave. It seems a miracle that 
I am living. How can I ever repay you ” 

“Waste no breath, sahib,” interrupted the Hindoo. 
“You will need it. There may be great perils to face. 
Listen, they are fighting as savagely as ever.” 

Gooloo was right. Down the rocky precipice floated 
husky yells and the clanging sounds of strife. There was 
nothing to indicate victory for either side. 

Marco rose unsteadily to his feet. 

“We must get back,” he said. “They have need of us. 


How the Fight Ended. 57 

Is Baba Khan really dead? After I saw him fall a mist 
seemed to swim before my eyes.” 

‘‘The traitor’s body is tossing from rock to rock,” re- 
plied Gooloo, pointing to the torrent. ‘‘His death was 
more merciful than he deserved. Come, sahib, your 
words are wise. We must gain the path.” 

“How ?” asked Marco, glancing in despair at the sheer 
precipice. 

“Farther down the slope it is less rugged,” answered 
the Hindoo. “Moreover, there will be less danger of 
meeting an enemy. My arms are strong. I will carry 
you.” 

“No, .1 can manage well enough,” protested Marco. 
“I feel much better. I don’t mind a few bruises and a 
headache.” 

He proved the assertion by vigorously shaking the 
water from his clothes and walking a few feet over the 
rough stones. 

Gooloo Singh was satisfied. 

Without further comment, he led his companion along 
the brink of the stream. In a short time they were sev- 
eral hundred yards below the scene of Baba Khan’s death. 
The sound of strife from above rang fainter and fainter 
in their ears. 

Now the rocky sides of the gorge fell away to timbered 
slopes. Gooloo Singh stopped and pointed upward. 

“Here, sahib, is a likely place,” he said. “You go first. 

I will be at your heels, ready to help.” 

Marco nerved himself, and wearily began the rugged 
ascent. The faithful Hindoo stuck close behind him. 


58 How tlie Figlit Ended. 

Soon both were concealed from view by the trees and 
undergrowth. 

Meanwhile, exciting scenes had been taking place on 
the narrow path far above the torrent. So fierce and hot 
was the hand-to-hand struggle that the disappearance of 
Marco and Gooloo Singh was unheeded. 

The situation almost precluded the possibility of flight. 
Garcia’s party fought with grim desperation. Matlock’s 
bravery and pluck inspired his handful of followers. For 
a time the contest was waged stubbornly and unyieldingly 
on both sides. 

At length Matlock extricated himself from a tangle of 
foes. Swinging his rifle around him, he quickly cleared 
a wide swath. His face and hands were bloody and pow- 
der grimed. He was a terrible sight to his enemies. 

“Come, my brave fellows!” he yelled. “At them 
again! They are giving way.” 

The natives responded with lusty cheers. They 
pressed on amid the clash and thud of weapons. 

The two Portuguese belonging to Garcia’s party were 
craven cowards at heart. They were poorly armed; 
and, moreover, they foresaw the certainty of defeat. 
All at once they broke from the circle and dashed up 
the path. In less time than it takes to tell they had 
vanished beyond the cages. No pursuit was attempted. 

“Let the dogs go,” shouted Matlock, as he struck 
right and left with renewed energy. “We are well rid 
of them. The fight is ours. One more rush, my lads.” 

The rush was a determined one, and the dusky faces 
closed in on the foe. 


59 


How the Fight Ended. 

The loss of his two trusted allies brought a blaze of 
anger to Garcia’s eyes. For an instant he, too, med- 
itated flight. But while he hesitated the opportunity 
was lost. He and the remnant of his band were driven 
back against the cliff. 

Here there was a brief and bitter scuffle. Blood 
flowed freely. Matlock hewed his way to the front and 
faced Garcia. 

The two leaders were armed with rifles. They 
exchanged glances of bitter enmity as they skillfully 
parried each other’s blows. 

Crack! Garcia’s rifle parted at the stock. He reeled 
heavily against the wall, expecting his death blow. 

But Matlock, stirred by an impulse of mercy, did not 
strike. 

“The law shall deal with your wretched life,” he cried. 
“Surrender, scoundrel!” 

Garcia scowled ferociously. 

“Never!” he hissed. “Malediction on you! Take 
that!” 

“That” was a short spear which the Portuguese sud- 
denly snatched from a native and launched directly at 
his enemy. 

Matlock was scarcely prepared for such a treacherous 
deed. He dodged swiftly to one side, and thereby nar- 
rowly escaped death. 

The spear passed under Matlock’s right arm, and 
whizzed on with vengeful force. A second later it bur- 
ied itself deeply in the foreflank of one of the bullocks 
that were harnessed to the nearest cage, 


6o 


How the Fight Ended. 

Then happened a strange thing. It was so rapid that 
Matlock lost the opportunity of stretching the Portu- 
guese lifeless on the ground — which he fully intended 
to do. 

The bullock, maddened by pain, swung around, drag- 
ging his mates with him. The cage toppled over and 
struck the stony path with such force as to jar the tim- 
bers apart. 

A horny, pointed head instantly squeezed from 
between them. Then followed the huge body of a wild 
buffalo. 

In all India there is no beast more to be dreaded at 
close quarters. This particular fellow was in a frenzy 
of rage. He caught sight of his natural enemies. He 
sniffed the air and bellowed hoarsely. Then, with low- 
ered head, he charged down the narrow path like a 
hurricane. 

The fight ended at once. There was a general 
scramble in all directions. Friends and foes jostled one 
another. Some ran to the precipice and let their bodies 
dangle over in space.. Others scaled the rocky cliff with 
the agility of cats, an example that Matlock was the 
first to set. 

For a brief moment Garcia stood still. He was dazed 
and maddened by his defeat. When he realized his peril 
it was too late to gain safe shelter. He set his face 
down the path and fled at his topmost speed. 

The buffalo whirled by, trampling ruthlessly over the 
bodies of the dead. Bellowing and snorting, it sped on 
in pursuit of the Portuguese. 


How the Fight Ended. 


6i 


Matlock and his men followed in the rear, fascinated 
by the excitement of the chase. The other natives took 
advantage of the opportunity and fled up the gorge. 

Garcia was in a bad plight. For more than a hun- 
dred yards he kept ahead of his determined enemy. 
Then his strength gave way, and he lost ground rapidly, 
cumbered as he was by his boots and clothes. 

‘'Jump into the ravine!” yelled Matlock, “or climb 
the hill on the other side!” 

Either the Portuguese did not hear, or he was too con- 
fused and frightened to understand. He suddenly 
wheeled around, and quickly the mad brute was upon 
him with lowered horns. 

Garcia rose in air and came down on the timbered 
bluff to the right of the path. He clutched at the 
undergrowth, and held tight for an instant. Then he 
crawled slowly in among the leaves and disappeared. 

The buffalo stamped and snorted and looked vainly 
for his victim. He had thoughts of charging the crowd 
in his rear, and shook his shaggy head at them. Then 
he wisely galloped down the path and was quickly lost 
to view. 

It was just at this juncture that Matlock missed Goo- 
loo Singh and Marco, and the discovery banished all 
else from his mind. But before he could conjecture 
what had become of them the absent ones hove in sight 
over the brink of the gorge, twenty yards down the 
path. 

Their friends hurried to meet them. The steep climb 
had exhausted Marco, and he clung limply to the Hin- 



CHAPTER IX. 


IN THE JAWS OF DEATH. 

The scene of the fight was quickly reached. Half-a- 
dozen of Garcia’s party, who had crept back to recover 
the cages, were taken by surprise. Two surrendered 
and the other four escaped by a daring rush. 

It was a dearly-bought victory, and Matlock was sad- 
dened by the scene of destruction that everywhere met 
the eye. His forces were badly thinned out, and the 
enemy had suffered even more severely. It was a 
matter of regret that the traitorous Ram was among 
the missing. 

As rapidly as possible the narrow path was cleared 
of dead and injured. The latter were placed on heaps 
of boughs and tenderly cared for. Their companions 
bandaged their wounds and made tedious journeys to 
the ravine for water. 

Matlock directed the dead foemen to be stretched 
along the base of the cliff. 

“No doubt their friends will return and bury them,” 
he said. “Our dead must be taken back to the village.” 

“How about Garcia’s cages of animals?” asked 
Marco. “I suppose we can regard them as the spoils 
of war ?” 

“Not exactly,” replied Matlock, “but the wisest 


64 


In the Jaws of Death. 

course will be to take them along. We will turn tnem 
over to the authorities in case a rumpus is kicked up 
about the affair.’' 

'‘A rumpus?” queried Marco, uneasily. 

“Yes, lad. You know we have taken the law into 
our own hands. We may be called to account for it.” 

“But there was no other way,” said Marco. “Where 
would our tiger be now if we had appealed to the near- 
est magistrate instead of pursuing Garcia?” 

“Very true,” assented Matlock; “and that is why I 
acted as I did. I admit that I did not anticipate such 
a loss of life. However, we must make the best of it 
now. Don’t worry, lad, we shall come out all right. 
And now let’s have a look at the cause of war.” 

Marco followed him to the cage that contained the 
tiger. The captive was a magnificent fellow, huge of 
limb and superbly striped. He glared at his visitors 
through the stout slats and snarled ferociously. 

“Such a prize is well worth all we have gone through,” 
said Matlock. “I don’t wonder Garcia wanted him. 
And it was you who trapped the beast, lad? You are 
getting on famously.” 

Marco thrilled with pride. Then his face clouded. 

“I wish poor Dan was alive,” he reflected, sadly. “It 
would please him to know it.” 

In all, five cages remained intact. The tiger occu- 
pied one, and another was half-filled with camping para- 
phernalia. The other three contained respectively a 
black panther, a leopard and a pair of hyenas. 

So much time was required for the wounded natives 


In the Jaws of Death. 


65 


that darkness came on before the preparations to start 
could be completed. Matlock reluctantly gave orders 
to camp until morning. He feared that Garcia might 
collect a force of the savage hill men who lived in the 
vicinity and make an overwhelming night attack. 

Every precaution was taken. Guards were set above 
and below the camp, and huge fires were built. 

But the dreaded hours of darkness passed without 
alarm. There was little sleep for any one. The groans 
of the suffering natives mingled with the restless cries 
of the caged beasts. The bullocks, deprived of food 
and water, bellowed incessantly. 

The first flush of dawn saw the somber procession 
winding down the gorge. Matlock marched at the 
head, though he was weak and feverish from his wound. 
On the truck that had belonged to the broken buffalo 
cage were the dead and injured of the party. 

At the mouth of the pass happened the one exciting 
incident of the return journey. The two prisoners 
broke loose and made good their escape in spite of a hot 
pursuit. 

An hour after sunrise the plain, scorched and scarred 
by yesterday’s fire, was left behind. The village was 
reached before noon. A pitiful scene ensued on the 
arrival of the party. Men, women and children loudly 
mourned the dead. 

But the people were reasonable. They accepted Mat- 
lock’s rupees, the head man getting the lion’s share. 

Their wrath was directed against Garcia and his allies, 


66 


In the Jaws of Death. 

and the perfidious Ram. The latter would have fared 
badly had he chanced along at that time. 

Matlock paid off his hired fighting men, and pressed 
on with the handful of companions that remained. The 
sorely-taxed bullocks made slow progress through the 
tangle of miry paths, and another night camp in the jun- 
gle was imperative. 

When the following day was half spent, the exhausted 
travelers filed into camp. They found Hofstein quite 
well, and with only good news to report. 

He rejoiced at the capture of the tiger, but he looked 
grave when he heard the complete story of the expedi- 
tion. He and Matlock entered the tent, and held a se- 
cret consultation that lasted until nearly supper time. 

Meanwhile Marco and Gooloo Singh superintended the 
arranging of the new cages, and the feeding and water- 
ing of the bullocks and wild animals. 

Twenty-four hours later every one was rested, and the 
camp was once more in its normal condition. 

Four days slipped by. Nearly all of the cages had oc- 
cupants. It would soon be time to return to Calcutta. 
There the animals would be shipped to New York by way 
of Hamburg. After that, fresh instructions would be re- 
ceived from the animal dealer — the tenor of which could 
only be surmised. 

This question was being discussed on a burning, scorch- 
ing afternoon. Matlock and Hofstein were stretched full 
length beneath a shaded tent, gasping and prespiring. 
Marco sat at their feet, looking rather more comfortable. 


In the Jaws of Death. 67 

Just outside squatted Gooloo Singh, calm and stolid as a 
bronze idol. 

“Ach, Richter, the animal dealer, knows not his own 
mind,” Hofstein was saying. “He may order us to the 
Rocky Mountains, or to the Himalayas, or to the forests 
of the Congo, or to the desert beyond Suakim ” 

“It is far more likely that we shall accompany the con- 
voy of animals to New York,” interrupted Matlock. “I 
am glad, at all events, that we are soon going to Cal- 
cutta.” 

“You still worry about Garcia, then?” asked the Ger- 
man. 

“Yes, a little. He may trump up a damaging case, and 
lay it before the authorities. We have his animals in our 
posssession. It would have been better had we aban- 
doned them in the mountains. I don’t know how to get 
rid of them now.” 

“They are valable, too,” said Marco, “especially the 
black panther.” 

“They really belong to the Madras house that Garcia 
represents,” suggested Hofstein. “It must be Sonburg 
& Company. They have an agent in Calcutta. We will 
turn the animals over to him.” 

“Good !” exclaimed Matlock. “That cuts the knot. A 
few days more will finish our work here, and then ” 

The rest of the sentence was inaudible. His voice was 
drowned by a commotion and shouting from outside the 
tent. Plainly something had happened. 

Hofstein rolled through the doorway and collided with 
Gooloo Singh. They sprang to their feet, and dashed 


68 In tHe Jaws of Death. 

toward the outskirts of the camp, followed by Matlock 
and Marco. 

The cause of the excitement was quickly explained. 
Surrounded by the camp employees were two of Mat- 
lock’s native shikarees, whose business it was to search 
the jungles. 

They had just arrived from different directions, and 
each had a thrilling piece of news. 

“A tiger is my find, sahib,” exclaimed Chundra. “The 
beast is sleeping in a bed of reeds about two miles to the 
south. I have men watching the spot. It is a great 
chance to use the nets.” 

“Sahibs, hark to me,” cried Dalo, the second shikaree. 
“I have been to the pits that we dug to the eastward three 
days ago. In one of them is a rhinoceros — a plump, full- 
grown fellow.” 

“Ach, good for both of you!” shouted Hofstein. 

“Just the animals that we need to complete the order,” 
added Matlock. “We must start at once in spite of the 
heat. Conrad, you and I will go with Chundra, and try 
to bag this sleeping tiger.” 

“Very well,” assented Hofstein. “Marco, we trust the 
rhinoceros to you and Dalo. Take Gooloo Singh along.” 

“It will be an easier task than yours,” replied the lad. 
“But all the same I wish I was going after the tiger.” 

Preparations were hurriedly made, and just as the heat 
of the afternoon began to lose its intensity, the two par- 
ties started in different directions. 

In the rear of each a cage followed slowly, drawn by 
lagging bullocks. 


In the Jaws of Death. 69 

With his rifle strapped to his back, and a sola topee, or 
sun helmet, on his head, Marco pushed eastward with his 
two companions. He knew the location of the pits, which 
were about three miles from the camp. 

Dalo and Gooloo Singh carried spades and coils of 
rope. The task before them was one of labor and skill 
rather than of peril. They expected to dig a narrow, 
sloping passage to the pit, and drag or drive the rhi- 
noceros into the cage. 

The way led through a dense jungle, and Marco trav- 
eled at an easy pace. He knew that the cage would be 
tardy in overtaking him. 

Finally the first of the pits was reached. Its cover- 
ing of grass and bamboo was undisturbed. 

Now a dull, pounding noise was heard, mingled with 
occasional angry snorts. 

“Yonder is the spot,” whispered Dalo. “The beast 
appears to be in an ugly mood.” 

“Let me go first,” said Gooloo Singh. “There may 
be danger. Keep back, sahib.” 

“There can be danger only from one source,” replied 
Marco, “and I don’t see much chance of that. The pits 
were well dug.” 

He pressed on at the heels of the two Hindoos. The 
intervening strip of jungle was quickly crossed. The 
sounds grew louder and nearer. 

Here was the pit at last. What Gooloo Singh had 
feared was an actual reality. The rhinoceros was 
almost free. With his pointed snout and horn he had 
undermined one wall of his prison and caused a cave-in. 


70 


In the Jaws of Death. 


Now he was beating and trampling the earth, and the 
slope thus formed already reached almost to the top of 
the pit. 

The captive was a huge and savage fellow. He 
paused long enough to snort angrily, and to glare at his 
three visitors out of his wicked little eyes. Then he 
went on with his fight for freedom. 

“All this has been done since I was here,’' declared 
Dalo. “It was an unfortunate place to dig a pit. 
Look, the soil is loose and rotten.” 

“We can’t. let such a splendid animal escape,” cried 
Marco. “Quick! throw a noosed rope over his head 
and drag him to the other end of the pit. That will 
give me a chance to straighten this wall.” 

“A good plan, sahib,” approved Gooloo. “The cage 
will doubtless soon be here.” 

The two Hindoos deftly adjusted the rope, and at the 
first throw they noosed the rhinoceros. Running to 
the rear end of the pit they hauled with all their might. 

The brute lunged frantically to right and left for a 
moment; then he sullenly allowed himself to be drawn 
several feet backward. 

Marco unstrapped his rifle and threw it to the ground. 
Then he seized one of the spades and lustily attacked 
the sloping wall. 

“Be careful, sahib,” warned Gooloo Singh, from the 
opposite side. 

At that very moment the treacherous earth crumbled 
and let Marco several feet into the pit. There he stuck 
fast, buried to the knees in the soft ground. 


In the Jaws of Death. 


71 


Before the lad could extricate himself, the rhinoc- 
eros made a mad lunge forward. Gooloo Singh let go 
of the rope in time, but Dalo pitched headfirst into the pit. 

With a snort of passion, the wicked brute charged 
up the sloping wall, straight at Marco. 


CHAPTER X. 


AN UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY. 

The shrill cries of the two Hindoos rang for a brief in- 
stant in Marco’s ears. Then, from behind, he was struck 
like a catapult by the tough snout of the rhinoceros. 
Luckily, the sharp horn did not touch him. 

He rose dizzily from the clogging earth, described a 
semicircle, and landed on hands and knees a few feet clear 
of the pit’s edge. 

He was stunned and bruised, but otherwise uninjured. 
He staggered to his feet, and looked back. Just then the 
rhinoceros, by a tremendous effort, surmounted the 
crumbling side of the pit. 

Marco did not have his full wits about him. He was 
still too dazed to take advantage of the slim chance of es- 
cape that now offered. 

Instead of doubling to right or left, he dashed straight 
forward, with the vicious brute in hot pursuit. He felt 
its warm, steaming breath ; he heard its puffing snorts, 
and the clumsy trample of its hoofs. 

Like a flash he saw the limb of a tree drooping over 
the path Just ahead. This was his last chance, and in 
desperation he leaped high and grabbed at it. He made 
a slight miscalculation, and secured a weak hold with his 
finger tips. 


An Unpleasant Discovery. 


73 


For a fraction of a second he swung in air. Then he 
was suddenly lifted upward, and wrenched by an irre- 
sistible force from his frail support. 

At first he was dazed and half-blinded. The heated 
atmosphere flew by him. There was a warm, hard sub- 
stance under him, and when he threw his hands out in 
fright at the swaying motion, they clutched something 
rough and wrinkled. He heard, vaguely, a husky shout 
far in the rear. 

All at once he realized the truth. The rhinoceros had 
swept him off the limb, and now, perched on the animal’s 
back, he was whirling through the jungle. It was, in- 
deed, a unique situation, and one that contained a grave 
element of peril. Still, it was better than being at the 
mercy of the brute’s hoofs, and sharp horn, as Marco re- 
flected. 

His first act was to straddle the broad back of the 
rhinoceros as flatly as possible, and take a firm hold of 
the tough folds of skin on the neck. Then he closed his 
eyes, and tried to think. 

The rhinoceros was by far the more frightened of the 
two. It had not counted on being turned into a beast of 
burden. It was panic-stricken by the living, breathing 
weight that clung to its back. 

So the terrified quadruped sought relief in furious 
flight. It quickly left Gooloo Singh and Dalo far behind. 

Marco clung to his perch, though buffeted and 
scratched by the over-hanging foliage. He was afraid to 
roll off, lest the rhinoceros should turn and tear him to 
pieces. He wondered how long the mad ride would last. 


74 An Unpleasant Discovery. 

All around him were the dense, gloomy fastnesses of the 
jungle. 

Suddenly the brake and jungle melted av/ay, and all 
around was a light that seemed dazzling in contrast to the 
recent shadows. 

Crunch ! crunch ! splash ! splash ! Now cool water 
spurted over the lad’s fevered face and hands. He lifted 
his head slightly and looked. 

The rhinoceros was fording a swift and narrow river, 
some two hundred yards broad. The dusky glow that 
precedes the twilight was just fading from the opposite 
bank. 

Still goaded by fear, the quadruped scarcely slack- 
ened its speed. It splashed and crunched across the 
stream, now belly deep, now submerged so far that 
Marco’s hands and feet were under water! 

In mid-channel was a bit of an island — a mere mud 
bank — that gave existence to an eddy off its lower end. 
Here the opposing currents had scooped out the 
bottom. 

Just as the rhinoceros came to the verge of this hole 
a huge crocodile poked its scaly snout from the murky 
depths. The quadruped snorted with fear, and swung 
around so suddenly that Marco lost his grip and went 
headfirst into the water. 

When he reached the surface he was in the grasp of 
the swift current. He splashed and kicked vigorously 
as it whirled him clear of the eddy and on down stream. 

Glancing back, he saw the rhinoceros beating its way 


An Unpleasant Discovery. 75 

straight up stream, like a small side-wheel steamer. 
The crocodile had vanished. 

^T ought to be thankful to that scaly reptile,” reflected 
Marco. “But, come to think of it, I don’t know as I’m 
much better off. Crocodiles don’t grow singly, and 
there may be a score of them watching me at this 
minute.” 

Terrified by the notion of such a possibility, the lad 
splashed more noisily than ever. He tried to gain the 
west bank of the river, but he was far nearer the oppo- 
site shore, and, moreover, a strong current set in that 
direction. 

So, against his inclination, Marco finally crawled out 
on the bank that was farthest from camp and friends. 
He was exhausted by the hard swim. He crouched, 
panting and dripping wet, on the narrow strip of sand. 

Vaguely he heard confused sounds in the distance—^ 
in what direction he could not tell. Did some new and 
terrible danger threaten him? 

Patter ! patter ! Jingle ! jingle ! 

From the black jungle into the dusk of twilight, can- 
tered, by twos and threes, a squad of English cavalry. 

The thud of hoofs and jingle of accouterments was all 
around Marco before he knew what it meant. 

Then he sprang to his feet with a shrill cry and went 
down as quickly under the hoofs of the foremost horse. 

“Halt!” rang out Captain Clemson’s voice. “Back, 
men, back.” 

The officer dropped quickly from the saddle and took 


76 An Unpleasant Discovery. 

Marco in his arms. Others gathered around, amazed 
and curious. 

''An English lad!” exclaimed one. 

"And soaking wet and unconscious,” added another. 
“There is some mystery here.” 

"The poor chap must have just crawled from the 
river when my animal struck him,” declared Captain 
Clemson. "I don’t think he is hurt severely. He 
breathes well and is merely stunned.” 

"Mayhap he’s one of them named in the warrant, 
cap’n,” suggested a cavalryman. 

"No; he’s only a boy,” was the reply. "Here, Red- 
field, you take care of him. We can’t stop to revive 
him now.” 

Accordingly, a burly trooper lifted the unconscious 
lad onto the saddle in front of him. 

The officer held a brief conversation with a scrawny 
native astride of a lean horse, who was evidently present 
in the capacity of guide. Then the former remounted, 
while the latter ignited a flaring torch. 

An instant later the command to start was again 
given. The score of gray-uniformed troopers spurred 
their horses down the bank of the river until the native 
designated a fording place. Then all splashed noisily 
across — reckless of crocodiles — and followed the torch 
into the jungle. 

The return of consciousness brought with it to Marco 
an instant recollection of all that had happened. He 
had escaped injury from the captain’s steed. It was 
the striking of his temple on a hard stone that had 


An Unpleasant Discovery. 77 

stunned him. With aching head and limbs he rested 
loosely against Redfield’s broad bosom. His eyes 
watched the torchlight flashing on horses and riders, 
gleaming into the depths of the jungle. 

He heard and understood the conversation of the 
troopers. He listened intently, and relaxed his attitude 
so as to feign insensibility the better. For a moment his 
brain was very busy. 

‘'This is Garcia’s work,” he said to himself. “The cav- 
alry are on their way to arrest Matlock and Hofstein. 
Perhaps they want me, too. They don’t know yet who 
I am, anyhow. If I could only warn my friends, and 
give them a chance to get away. I must do it — I must. 
But how?” 

The question was speedily answered. A moment later 
a clump of rocks was passed, and now Marco had his 
bearings. 

The troopers were following what had been originally 
a mere elephant path. It would lead to the camp, but by 
a very roundabout way. Straight across the jungle the 
distance was less by almost one-half. 

Marco’s plan was formed. But could he carry it out ? 

The knowledge of what depended on him made him 
cool and clear-headed. He watched and waited. 

Now the path narrowed, and swung between serried 
walls of brake. Marco slipped limply down under the 
trooper’s arms. The next instant he was under cover of 
the jungle, running blindly and at full speed. 

No pursuit was attempted. What would have been the 


78 An Unpleasant Discovery. 

use? Not a man dismounted. There was some grum- 
bling and swearing. Then they reluctantly rode on. 

Marco joyfully heard the trampling of the hoofs die 
away in the distance. He ran still faster, taking care not 
to lose his bearings. Thorns and spear grass lacerated 
him. He heard the howling of wild beasts. 

Then another sound fell on his ear. Some one was 
calling his own name. Yes, that was it, surely. 

He timidly ventured to give a low shout. The reply 
was instantaneous. He stood still and waited. Thresh- 
ing footsteps came near. 

The suspense was quickly over. Imagine the lad’s joy 
when the unknown ones turned out to be Dalo and Gooloo 
Singh. 

The honest fellows were equally delighted. Their 
story was hurriedly told by Gooloo. 

“We followed the rhinoceros,” he said, “expecting to 
find your mangled body, sahib. Finally, when night fell, 
we turned back to camp to procure torches. We heard 
the horsemen coming, and hid by the path. They had 
hardly gone by when we saw your brave escape. As 
quickly as possible, we followed after you. But what 
mean the Feringhi cavalry?” 

Marco briefly explained, and his companions shared his 
anxiety. Precious time had already been lost, and with- 
out further delay they pushed on through the dark jungle. 


CHAPTER XL 


A STARTI.ING CHARGE. 

The little party safely reached the camp, and burst im- 
petuously into the circle of cleared ground that was 
penned in by the cages. 

Here, over blazing fires, the natives were preparing 
supper. IMatlock and Hofstein lounged before the tent, 
enjoying their pipes. They stared in wonder at the new 
arrivals. 

“What luck, lad?’' demanded Hofstein. “We were 
about to start after you. That stupid fellow yonder drove 
the cage in the wrong direction. He missed you and 
came back.” 

“Hope you had better luck than us,” added Matlock. 
“The tiger gave us the slip, and ” 

He paused, suddenly observing Marco’s white, agitated 
face. 

“Lad, what’s wrong?” he questioned. “Speak, quick!” 

“English cavalry,” panted Marco, “coming to arrest 
you — here in a minute — don’t delay — ^hide in the jungle.” 

Both men sprang to their feet. Dashing into the tent, 
they pulled on their coats, and snatched weapons. 

“Look here,” exclaimed Matlock. “We can’t abandon 
all our property in this way. Let’s face the music.” 

“Whatever you say,” muttered Hofstein. “It’s an ugly 
scrape.” 


8o 


A Startling Charge. 

The next instant the choice was taken out of their 
hands. A crashing noise rose from the jungle. The 
shrill notes of a bugle quavered on the night air. 

Consternation seized the whole camp. The natives 
sought shelter under the cages. 

Matlock and Hofstein fled toward the rear, followed 
by Marco and the two Hindoos. The click of rifles and 
a glimpse of gray uniforms drove them back. The camp 
was surrounded. 

“Offer no resistance; I come in the queen’s name!” 
shouted Captain Clemson, as he rode into the inclosure 
with half-a-dozen troopers at his heels. 

He glanced curiously about him for a moment. Then 
he dismounted, handed the horse to an orderly, and ap- 
proached the little group before the tent. 

“I am in search of two men,” he said, pompously. 
“Their names are Ralph Matlock and Conrad Hofstein. 
I have a warrant for their arrest — a warrant bearing the 
signature of the Governor-General of the Province of 
Bengal.” 

Matlock stepped forward. His face was flushed and 
angry. 

“I am one,” he said; “and here is the other,” pointing 
to Hofstein. “I assure you the whole affair is a mistake. 
It is v/e who should have sworn out a warrant ” 

“Ach, that’s true,” growled Hofstein. “We have been 
infernally treated. I will wring the neck of that dirty 
Portuguese.” 

“I don’t want to hear your story,” replied the officer. 


A Startling Charge. 8i 

time for that will come soon enough. Prepare to 
accompany me. I don’t intend to spend the night here.” 

'‘May I ask, sir, on what charges the warrant is 
based?” said Matlock. 

“Various ones,” replied Captain Clemson. “You are 
accused of murder, of highway robbery, and of unlawfully 
amassing armed men in the queen’s district of Chota 
Nagpur.” 

Marco and the Hindoos gasped in terrified amazement. 
Hofstein nearly swallowed his pipe, and his eyes bulged 
out like saucers. 

Matlock bit his lip, and looked at the ground with a 
puzzled, anxious expression. 

“This is preposterous,” he said. “I see through it all. 
But, of course, you are only doing your duty. We will be 
ready to accompany you in a short time. First, I crave 
your permission to ask a few brief questions.” 

“They must be very brief, then,” replied the officer, 
glancing at his watch. “We have a night ride of twelve 
miles before us. Go ahead.” 

“Thanks,” said Matlock. “Will you tell me the name 
of our accuser ?” 

“There are two of them,” Captain Clemson answered. 
“A Portuguese by the name of Garcia, and a Hindoo 
called Ram. The latter is from the village of Howla.” 

“I thought so. When was the charge made?” 

“Two days ago.” 

“Ah! Where are Garcia and Ram now?” 

“I don’t know,” replied the officer, a little impatiently. 


82 A Startling Charge. 

“They will appear in Calcutta at the preliminary 
hearing.’’ 

“Calcutta?” gasped Matlock. “Must we be taken clear 
down there?” 

“Certainly. Where else?” 

There was a moment of silence. Hofstein looked puz- 
zled. Matlock seemed dazed. His lips worked con- 
vulsively. 

“Come ; we must be off,” said the officer, gruffiy. 

“One moment,” exclaimed Matlock. “I have a request 
to ask. Our arrest is a piece of malice, and there is a 
deadly plot back of it. If we are taken away, our prop- 
erty will be in great danger. I implore you to leave an 
escort here.” 

“Nonsense,” laughed Captain Clemson. “One would 
think we were in a hostile country. The peril exists only 
in your imagination. I have no men to spare. If any- 
thing goes wrong, your servants here can send word to 
the cantonments at Barakar.” 

“You refuse, then?” said Matlock, bitterly. “Well, 
remember then that I shall hold you responsible for what- 
ever happens. Mark my word, sir, our accusers will not 
appear at the hearing in Calcutta.” 

The officer was staggered for a moment. He hesitat- 
ingly tugged at his drooping mustache. 

“My orders are plain,” he replied. “We have had 
enough talking. You must be ready to leave in five min- 
utes. That is the utmost limit.” 

He gave a signal to his bugler, and a low musical note 


A Startling Charge. 83 

instantly floated through the jungle. The balance of the 
troopers came riding into the inclosure. 

Then there was a stamping and a prancing of hoofs, for 
the steeds were terrified at the near presence of the wild 
animals. The men could scarcely hold them. 

While Matlock and Hofstein were in the tent prepar- 
ing for their journey, Captain Clemson recognized Marco 
for the first time. 

He made the lad tell the whole story of his adven- 
ture. He also questioned Gooloo Singh, and for a time 
he was inclined to take both into custody. 

Matlock, coming out just then, divined the officer’s 
purpose. 

“This lad and the Hindoo are my most valuable em- 
ployees,” he said. “They are not named in the warrant, 
nor are they needed as witnesses.” 

“Very well; I won’t take them,” muttered Captain 
Clemson. “By the way, I must leave somebody here. 
The Portuguese claims some of the animals. 

“Redfield,” he added, turning to the big trooper who 
had carried Marco. “I put the camp in your charge. See 
that nothing is taken away. That will be your duty until 
further orders.” 

Redfield made a wry face. He dismounted, and pick- 
eted his horse over near the bullocks. 

Meanwhile, Hofstein was clumsily mounting behind 
one of the troopers, greatly to the amusement of the spec- 
tators. Taking advantage of this diversion, Matlock 
drew Marco a little to one side. 


84 


A Startling Charge. 


“Sharp ears now, lad,’’ he whispered. “Don’t lose a 
word. Be watchful while Conrad and I are gone, and 
keep guards set day and night. I am satisfied that Gar- 
cia means mischief. This is only a ruse — our arrest. He 
will likely attack the camp.” 

“Why was my name not in the warrant?” asked Marco. 

“Ah, that’s the worst of it. It looks to me as though 
Garcia wanted to find you here. He has a grudge against 
you, you know. So be careful, lad. May God keep you 
from harm. I am satisfied that we won’t be detained 
long in Calcutta ” 

Just then came the officer’s gruff summons. There 
was time for a hasty good-by, and a pressure of the 
hand. 

An instant later the bugle rang Joud and clear. The 
impatient horses pranced into the jungle path. Mat- 
lock and Hofstein, each mounted behind a stalwart 
trooper, turned for a final wave of the hand. 

Then they vanished, and the glimmer of the torches 
faded from sight. 

The natives crept out from beneath the cages, and went 
back to their duties at the fire as calmly as though nothing 
had occurred. Redfield squatted nearby, and looked hun- 
grily at the viands. 

Marco felt dazed. He went and sat down before the 
empty tent. The faithful Goolco Singh presently fol- 
lowed him there, and they had a long, earnest talk over 
the situation. 

The Hindoo was keen-witted and intelligent. He 


A Startling Charge. 


85 


agreed with Marco that the danger was real and not im- 
aginary. They had planned what meagre defenses were 
possible. 

The meal was commenced amid gloomy constraint. 
The presence of this long-limbed cavalryman seemed an 
intrusion. Gooloo watched him furtively. The servants 
scowled at him behind his back. 

But Redfield was not a man with whom one could be 
on bad terms. Jollity and good humor beamed from his 
eyes and lurked under his shaggy mustache. 

^‘Cheer up, comrades !” he cried, with a mellow laugh. 
“Your friends’ll be back before many suns set. An^ 
meanwhile I’ll take a hand if there’s to be any fightin’. 
An’ ’twixt you an’ me, it ain’t onlikely.” 

He soon had the confidence of Marco and Gooloo 
Singh — and the others as well. He knew all about the 
recent trouble, and discussed it unreservedly with them. 
He was of the same mind on every point. 

After supper all hands fell to work, and the entire ar- 
rangement of the camp was changed under Marco’s su- 
pervision. 

The cages were drawn so close as to contract the circle 
by one-half. A single narrow opening was left for the 
bullocks to reach the water hole, which was fifty yards 
distant. Near this opening was the lean-to where the na- 
tives slept. The tent was at the opposite side of the in- 
closure. 

Then a more formidable task was undertaken and fin- 
ished. Quantities of thorn bushes were cut and heaped 


86 


A Startling Charge. 

against the outer side of the circle of cages, so that no 
enemy could crawl under. 

The beasts — wild and domestic — ^had been fed and 
watered before the arrival of the cavalry. They needed 
no further attention. 

At a late hour the final touches were added. The force 
in camp numbered ten. Marco divided these into two 
watches, taking personal charge of one, and giving the 
other to Redfield. Each had four men under him. 

Happily, the night passed without alarm, and dawn 
was eagerly welcomed. 

But this was no sign that the danger was over. Sun- 
set was anticipated with feelings of dread. 

There was work for all hands during the day. The 
bullocks and animals were fed and watered, and the 
cages had their customary cleaning. 

The two shikarees ventured into the jungle after fresh 
meat for the beasts. They returned with a spotted deer. 
In a radius of four miles they had seen no trace of human 
beings. 

'There is plenty of time yet,” said Marco, gloomily. 
‘Tf Garcia intends doing anything he will do it well.” 

"True, lad,” replied Redfield. "And the rascal knows 
that your friends can’t well get back from Calcutta under 
a week or ten days.” 

"Sahibs, would it not be wise to hire a small force from 
the headman of the village of Howla ?” suggested Gooloo 
Singh. 

Marco caught eagerly at the idea. 


A Startling Charge. 87 

^^’11 do it to-morrow,” he replied. “Fm glad you men- 
tioned it, Gooloo.” 

It was now late in the afternoon. Soon the shades of 
night settled down on the camp, and the fires were 
lighted. 


CHAPTER XIL 


A DEED OF DARKNESS. 

Until nearly midnight Marco and Redfield sat before 
the tent. They were in hopeful spirits. The trooper, 
puffing at a blackened brier pipe, prattled of his adventur- 
ous life in the service. Marco let him do all the talking. 

Finally Redfield rose and stretched his lank limbs. 

“Time for guard duty,” he remarked. “My men are 
waiting for me at the fire. Yours are sound asleep, and 
you had best join them, lad.” 

“I will,” replied Marco. “I don’t believe we shall be 
disturbed to-night. And the first thing in the morning I 
am going to the headman of the village with a bagful 
of rupees. I am sure that is what Matlock would want 
me to do.” 

“Ay, that he would,” said Redfield. “Pleasant dreams, 
lad. ril rouse you on time.” 

He strode across the inclosure and sent his men to 
their respective posts of duty. For an hour he paid fre- 
quent visits to them, and kept the fire in a continual blaze. 

Marco slept soundly within the tent. Gooloo Singh 
lay at his feet, wrapped in a blanket. 

Suddenly a shrill, gurgling cry rang out on the still- 
ness of the night. A deep groan followed, and then all 
was still. 


A Deed of Darkness. 


89 


The Hindoo slept on, but Marco sprang to his feet, 
snatched a rifle,- and dashed from the tent. He was half 
inclined to think himself the victim of a troubled dream. 

But he knew better when he saw Redfield drop an arm- 
ful of wood, and stare wildly about. 

“You heard it, too, lad,” demanded the trooper. “It 
was an ugly sound. I’ll stake my life it was a death- 
cry.” 

“It came from outside the camp,” said Marco. “Fm 
afraid we’re going to be attacked. Shall I waken my 
men ?” 

“No, not yet. Hold on a bit.” 

They waited a full minute, scarcely daring to breathe. 
But there was no further alarm, nor did the sentries rush 
in. 

A dark figure stole up from behind. It was Gooloo 
Singh. 

“Is there danger, sahib?” he asked. “You are listen- 
ing.” 

Redfield briefly explained, and the Hindoo’s face 
clouded with perplexity. 

“I must take a look around the camp,” added the 
trooper. “Be ready if anything happens.” 

“Wait, I’ll go with you,” declared Marco, and Redfield 
made no objection. 

Gooloo Singh followed, as a matter of course. The 
trooper lighted the way with a blazing brand. The others 
held their weapons ready for instant use. 

Just outside the camp the first sentry was found at his 


90 


A Deed of Darkness. 


post. He had probably just awakened from sleep, for he 
denied all knowledge of the mysterious sound. 

They pushed on to the second sentry. He was in a 
pitiable state of fright. He had heard the shrill cry, and 
he declared that it came from a point close 1:^. 

The little party hurried forward, taking the man with 
them. Now a semi-circle of the camp was almost com- 
pleted. The light of the torch, flaring ahead, shone on 
the little cleared spot in the jungle where the third senti- 
nel had been stationed. The post was empty ! 

Redfield was first on the scene. A low cry escaped his 
lips as he held the torch low and let it shine on the tram- 
pled grass — on dabs and spatters of warm blood. 

“Murder has been done!” he gasped, hoarsely; “foul 
murder I” 

“Perhaps a tiger pounced on the poor fellow and car- 
ried him off,” whispered Marco. 

He peered anxiously around as he cocked his rifle. 

“A human tiger, sahibs,” replied Gooloo Singh, and 
stepping forward over the blood stains^ he parted the 
surrounding screen of bushes. “Behold, sahibs!” he 
gasped. 

Redfield and Marco were quickly beside him, staring 
with horrified eyes into the thicket. 

There lay the sentry, his lifeless face upturned. His 
rifle and ammunition belt were gone. 

Redfield rolled the body over, and revealed a short dag- 
ger buried to the hilt in the back. It had evidently pene- 
trated the heart. 

“The work of some prowling jungle thief,” he mut- 


A Deed of Darkness. 


91 

tered. ^‘Fd make short shrift of the assassin if I had 
him.” 

''It means more than that,” said Gooloo Singh. 

"Yes, I’m sure it does,” said Marco, impulsively. 
"Garcia is not far away, and the murderer was his spy.” 

"Mayhap you’re right,” replied Redfield. "If so, it’s 
risky to stay here.” 

"We must go back and waken the others,” said Marco. 
"The camp is in danger. But first we ought to visit the 
last post.” 

"We will return that way,” replied the trooper. 

The Hindoo let the bushes swing back, hiding the 
ghastly sight of the murdered man. Then, with fast- 
beating hearts, the little party crept along the outside of 
the camp. 

When they were half-way to the spot where Dalo, the 
fourth sentry, was posted, Redfield halted abruptly. He 
spoke no word, but reached the torch down by his side. 
In the hedge of thorn bushes that were stacked against 
the cages a narrow gap was seen. 

"It is freshly made,” whispered Gooloo Singh. "The 
assassin is within the camp.” 

"Then we have him !” exclaimed Marco. "Quick ! let 
us hurry around to the entrance.” 

"There is a better and surer way,” said Redfield. 
"Stick by me.” 

He dropped the torch and ground it under his heels 
until every spark was extinguished. Then, on hands and 
knees, he entered the gap in the hedge. 


92 


A Deed of Darkness. 


“Keep your mouths shut/’ he whispered. “Don’t make 
a sound.” 

The trooper’s act was a daring one, since the exact 
whereabouts of the assassin was unknown. Possibly it 
was Garcia himself. 

Gooloo Singh followed Redfield, and Marco came last. 
One by one they issued from the hedge. They were now 
under one of the cages. The tent, staked a few yards 
away, prevented a clear view of the inclosure. 

“We’ll have the rascal if he is still lurking about,” 
whispered Redfield. 

He crawled out from the cage, and stood erect, then 
he went cautiously forward. 

The others followed at his heels. Marco, coming last, 
diverged to one side. In the dim light he did not see a 
dark blot cunningly interwoven with the trampled grass. 

Crash ! he tripped and went headlong to the ground. 
He felt a warm, squirming body under him. He heard 
an angry snarl. Then a pair of muscular arms gripped 
him. 

The lad soon realized that he was in the grasp of the 
assassin. He fought . hard, shouting hoarsely for help as 
he rolled over and over. 

But before Redfield or the Hindoo could interfere, Mar- 
co’s enemy twisted loose with the slipperiness of a ser- 
pent. He was off like a streak, and when the lad rose 
dizzily he saw the dusky figure speeding toward the exit 
of the camp. 

“Out of the way, lad; I’ll stop him!” cried Redfield. 

The trooper’s rifle rose to his shoulder. Crack ! The 


A Deed of Darkness. 


93 

ball sped true, and the fleeing assassin tumbled over in a 
heap by the very edge of the fire. 

An instant later a very pandemonium raged. The 
frightened bullocks stamped and bellowed ; the wild ani- 
mals roared, and snarled, and dashed against the bars of 
their cages. The natives burst out of their sleeping quar- 
ters in a state of ludicrous terror. 

Just as Redfield and his companions reached the fire 
the three sentries hastened into the inclosure, drawn away 
from their posts by the shot. 

All gathered around the trooper’s victim. The spy, if 
such he was, had paid dearly for his temerity and for the 
assassination of the sentinel. He was stone dead. 

He was a repulsive-looking fellow, small of stature, 
but tough and wiry. He was naked, except for a waist- 
band. His features were brutal and depraved. His long, 
black hair was matted and unkempt. 

“A just end, if ever there was one,” muttered Redfield. 
*T don’t regret the shot. Look, the wretch has the stolen 
cartridge belt on him.” 

“He dropped the rifle when I fell over him,” said 
Marco. “He’s a queer-looking chap. I don’t belive he 
hails from these parts.” 

“You are right, sahib,” replied Gooloo Singh, solemnly. 
“The presence of this man here means grave danger. He 
belongs to the half-civilized people who dwell in the hills 
to the north — ^beyond where we had the battle. They are 
cruel and blood-thirsty, and many of them are thugs.” 

“I’ve heard of them,” muttered Redfield. “They are 
regular fanatics at fighting — don’t care for man or beast.” 


94 


A Deed of Darkness. 


^‘Then Garcia has hired a lot of the wretches,” declared 
Marco. ^'It’s worse than I thought it was. We’re in a 
bad scrape.” 

“We’ll do our best to get out of it,” Redfield exclaimed. 
“If there are any final preparations to be made, make 
them now. We don’t want to be caught napping. The 
attack may come at any moment.” 

The trooper’s words roused all to a sense of the im- 
pending peril. But no panic or craven fear was mani- 
fested. Matlock had been careful to hire only brave and 
experienced men. 

All were armed with rifles, and some of the weapons 
were repeaters. More ammunition was needed, however, 
so Marco and Gooloo Singh hurried to the tent to fill the 
want. 

Meanwhile Redfield gave brief orders to the men, and 
posted two of them at the exit of the camp. Then, ac- 
companied by Chundra, he ran to the rear of the inclos- 
ure, and stopped at the gap in the hedge. 

He returned just as Marco and the Hindoo reached the 
fire with a box of cartridges. The others swarmed around 
them, intent on filling their ammunition belts. 

At this unguarded moment a volley of rifle shots rang 
on the night air. One of the two sentries outside the 
camp reeled to the ground with a cry of agony. 

The other escaped a like fate by dashing into the in- 
closure, and that instant the passage between the cages 
became alive with savage faces and dusky, squirming 
forms. From scores of throats rose one mighty yell, shrill 
and blood-curdling ! 


CHAPTER XIII. 


SAVED BY A PANTHER. 

Thus the attack came, and so swiftly as to preclude 
the slightest warning. For an instant the little band 
seemed doomed to speedy defeat and massacre. 

But Marco and Redfield were equal to the emergency. 
The former drove his companions a few yards to one 
side, where their position was less exposed. 

‘‘Down, all of you!” yelled the trooper, in ringing 
tones. “Throw yourselves to the ground!” 

The command was instantly obeyed. Just as the last man 
dropped flat an explosion of musketry sent a leaden hail 
over their heads. Most of the enemy were^ armed with 
spears. These they hurled with vengeful force as they 
rushed on. 

Now was the opportunity of the besieged. It was 
badly needed, for the passage leading to the interior of the 
camp was fairly choked with hideous, half-naked wretches. 
The assailants were indeed the fanatical hill-men 
from the north. If Garcia commanded them, he discreetly 
kept out of sight. 

“Fire !” cried Marco. “Let them have it ! Make every 
shot tell !” 

Instantly, and with keen aim, the little cluster of rifles 
centered their deadly contents on the mouth of the pass- 
age. The reports blended in a deafening medley. 


96 Saved by a Panther. 

Above the drifting smoke the foremost ranks of the 
foe, now well within the camp, were seen to reel and 
tumble. In their death agonies they clutched at the empty 
air or tore up the grass in handfuls. 

But those behind pressed rnadly on, trampling dead and 
wounded under foot. There seemed no checking them. 

Redfield and Marco yelled hoarse words of encourage- 
ment to their comrades. They could scarcely be heard 
for the fearful din. The wild animals were roaring and 
screaming in their cages. The bullocks were dashing to 
and fro with mad bellows. 

Still the plucky little band aimed and fired until the rifle 
barrels grew hot in their grasp; still the savage hill-men 
surged into the inclosure, whooping and yelling like de- 
mons. As yet, the blazing fire and a curtain of smoke lay 
between them and their foes. 

But valor and doggedness were of little account against 
such a fanatical multitude! With bitter pain, Marco and 
Redfield realized this. 

“It’s no use, my brave fellows !” cried the trooper ; “one 
more volley and then run for your lives. We must break 
through the hedge at the rear of the camp !” 

“I won’t do it !” Marco hissed through his clinched 
teeth. “I’ve got to stick to my trust. I’ll die first.” 

“That will accomplish nothing, sahib,” said Gooloo 
Singh, who was at the lad’s elbow. “Be wise, and es- 
cape while you can.” 

Marco’s reply was a frenzied shout. With a steady 
hand he aimed and fired across the flame-lit smoke. 

For several moments the rifles cracked and thundered. 


97 


Saved by a Panther. 

But that last volley was as futile as the first. Half a 
score of the foe had gained the very edge of the fire. In 
the rear came a wave of dusky forms, hot for pillage and 
slaughter. 

“Run for your lives !” yelled Redfield, springing to his 
feet. “Come lad, we’ll stick together. Are you mad?” 
as Marco stubbornly held back. “It’s our last chance.” 

Just then a blood-curdling scream rang from one of the' 
nearby cages ; above the tumult a smashing and creaking 
of wooden bars was heard. 

The black panther was free. With another scream the 
maddened brute leaped blindly from the shattered cage, 
and landed in the very midst of the bullocks. 

Now happened a strange and unexpected thing. In 
almost less time than it takes to tell the situation changed. 

The bullocks, more terrified by the danger behind than 
in front, bolted wildly and simultaneously for the exit of 
the camp. 

Bellowing and bawling they swirled close by the little 
group of defenders, trampled over the first ranks of the 
foe, and plunged into the narrow passage. 

Even the fanatical hill-men could not stand such a 
charge. They turned and fled — as many of them as were 
able. 

For a few brief moments cries of agony blended with 
the bawling and snorting of the cattle. Then the passage 
was clear, save for the dead and maimed. From outside 
the camp the bullocks could be heard scattering into the 
jungle. 

Half-a-dozen of the enemy, who had dodged the charge, 


98 


Saved by a Panther. 

remained within the inclosure. Four of these swiftly 
made their escape through the passage. 

The other two recklessly advanced, and were shot 
down by Redfield and one of the natives. Meanwhile 
those of the injured who could move crawled out to their 
friends. 

At first this occurrence seemed to offer the defenders 
only a breathing spell. Doubtless the enemy would soon 
rally and dash more determinedly than ever into the camp. 

“Now is the time to escape,” urged Redfield. “Come, 
ril lead the way.” 

He started toward the rear of the camp, but Chundra 
caught his arm. 

“Be careful^ sahib!” he exclaimed. “The panther is 
yonder in the darkness. He will spring upon us.” 

“Are you mad?” cried Marco, “or have you all turned 
cowards? Just when the enemy are beaten off you want 
to escape. Our chances are better than ever. I will save 
the camp yet if you stand by me.” 

There was a moment of indecision. Gooloo Singh kept 
a wary eyfe on the passage. The trooper’s face flushed. 

“Coward is a hard name, lad,” he muttered. “If we 
wait for another attack we are lost.” 

“I won’t abandon the camp,” Marco replied, doggedly. 
“Here, help me with this cage. Then see if we can’t 
stand the rascals off.” 

The cage referred to formed the left wall of the pass- 
age. Redfield’s face cleared as he saw the lad’s idea. He 
hurried to Marco’s assistance, followed by the others. 

The cage was quickly hauled around broadside, so that 


99 


Saved by a Panther. 

it completely blocked the passage, with the exception of 
one narrow gap. It was the cage containing Garcia’s 
camping paraphernalia, and since its capture the contents 
had not been investigated. 

During the placing of this barricade, the enemy, 
strange to say, made no sign. They must have been 
widely scattered by the charge of the maddened bullocks. 

“Your idea is not a bad one, lad,” said Redfield. “This 
is what we should have done in the beginning. With 
twice as many men I should feel pretty sure of holding 
the camp. However, I’ll stick by you now, come what 
may.” 

“I hope you won’t regret it,” replied Marco. “I really 
think the odds are in our favor. The only weak spot in 
the whole circle is this gap here.” 

“We’ll soon fix that,” said the trooper. “All hands to 
work now, quick! Tear down the shanty yonder.” 

The little building was soon demolished, and the lumber 
was used to stop up the crevice and otherwise strengthen 
the barricade. 

Hardly had this been completed when the savages were 
heard gathering on the outer side. They yelled fero- 
ciously for a little while, sending a few rifle balls and 
spears through the crevices of the cages. 

Marco kept his men flat on the ground, and they es- 
caped injury. 

Finally the foe desisted. A deep silence ensued that 
was fraught with ominous meaning. 

LofC. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


A FLAG OF TRUCE. 

'The rascals have discovered that the passage is barred 
to them/' said Marco. 'T wonder what they will do 
next.” 

“No doubt they will go spying around in search of a 
weak place,” whispered Redfield. “The siege won’t be 
raised before daylight, that’s certain.” 

“Not if Garcia is in command of these devils,” assented 
Marco, “and of course he is.” 

“You are right, sahib,” said Gooloo Singh. “The 
Portuguese is bent on revenge. Plainly his force is very 
large, so we must take every precaution.” 

“And the first step is to put out the fire,” declared Red- 
field. “Then we can move about with little danger, and 
our eyes will soon become accustomed to the darkness. 
At present we can’t stir for fear of being shot.” 

Chundra volunteered for this perilous duty, and he 
succeeded in extinguishing the fire without drawing a 
shot or a spear from the enemy. 

The camp was now enveloped in gloom — not so thick, 
however, but that the outlines of the cages and of human 
figures could be seen. 

The loss of the two sentries had lessened the defenders 
to ten — Marco, Redfield, Gooloo Singh, the two shika- 


A Flag of Truce. 


lOI 


rees, Dalo and Chundra, and three other natives. It was 
a small enough force to keep at bay a horde of the sav- 
age hill-men. 

Another brief consultation was held, and all agreed 
that in constant watchfulness lay the only hope. 

“We have reliable guns and plenty of ammunition,” 
said Redfield. “That means everything. Now I am go- 
ing to post you all around the circle. You must depend 
more on your ears than your eyes. At the first sign of 
danger give a low whistle. That will summon the rest 
of us to the spot.” 

This was the best plan of defense that could have been 
adopted. The barricading of the exit left the camp 
equally protected on all sides. The enemy would prob- 
ably attack by breaking through the hedge. 

Redfield chose the lower end, and, with two others, he 
carefully examined the scene of the recent carnage. 
Eleven bodies lay on the trampled grass, and only two 
showed signs of life. 

Meanwhile Marco worked his way along one side of 
the inclosure. He had assigned two men to their posts 
of duty, and was measuring the distance for the third, 
when a dusky figure rose at his very feet, and bounded 
across the circle. 

The fellow had a fair chance of escape, for his enemies 
were so startled that they forgot to fire. 

But just as he reached the center of the camp he was 
pounced upon by the black panther, who had been lying 
concealed in the grass. 


102 


A Flag of Truce, 

The blood-curdling scream of the beast mingled with 
the man’s death-cry. 

There was a general rush forward from all directions. 
Marco outdistanced the others. He halted ten feet from 
the spot, and took aim at the crouching figure of the 
panther. 

The beast screamed horribly, and quivered for a spring 
at the daring lad. That instant the rifle cracked, and 
when the smoke cleared away the panther lay dead on the 
ground. 

The man was also dead. In the dim light his bitten 
and mangled throat could be seen. 

“One of the hill-men,” said Marco, bending over him. 
“I suppose he was with the attacking party, and ran in 
this direction when the bullocks stampeded.” 

“That’s it,” replied Redfield, “and he was watching his 
chance to get out. Well, the panther won’t trouble us 
any more. Back to your posts, men. We are giving the 
enemy a good chance.” 

A moment later the brief tragedy was forgotten. There 
were more important things to think about. After post- 
ing all the men, Marco took up his own position next to 
Redfield. 

Of course, the shooting of the panther had stirred the 
wild beasts to a high pitch of howling and roaring. Pres- 
ently they became quiet, except for an occasional wheeze 
or yawl. 

The surrounding jungle seemed deserted. Not a sound 
could be heard from the wounded savages who had 


A Flag of Truce. 103 

crawled out of the camp. They were enduring their in- 
juries with Spartan fortitude. 

An hour slipped by. To the little band of ten, shut 
in by bloodthirsty foes, the period was one of constant 
suspense. 

They listened with keen ears for the dreaded signal. 
They strained their eyes through the murky gloom. 

At frequent intervals either Marco or Redfield paced 
around the inclosure. As the minutes went by, the hope 
that the enemy had retreated grew stronger. 

It was a vain hope. Marco’s heart would have been 
wrung with anguish could he have foreseen the result of 
his refusal to escape when the opportunity offered. 

Gooloo Singh’s alertness discovered the first attack. 
The brave Hindoo was posted on the left side of the 
camp. Hearing low, guttural voices, and a rustling in the 
thorn hedge, he gave the signal — a sharp, clear whistle. 

It was quickly responded to, and just as the last man 
reached the spot half a score of slippery savages burst 
through a gap in the hedge. 

''Throw yourselves flat!” cried Marco. "Now give it 
to them. Shoot under the cage!” 

The rifle fire that followed did fearful execution, and 
took the foe by surprise. With shrieks of agony, they 
fled back to the shelter of the jungle. 

The defenders fired steadily for several minutes. When 
they stopped all was quiet. Under the cage half-a-dozen 
dead bodies could be dimly seen. 

"That was well done,” said Redfield. "The devils have 
had two severe lessons to-night.” 


104 


A Flag of Truce. 


*‘And we’ll teach them more if they need them,” replied 
Marco. “This is a dangerous spot and will have to be 
watched. I’ll leave Chundra here to keep you company, 
Gooloo. Lie flat on the ground so that the savages have 
no chance to shoot or spear you.” 

After posting the others at different points, Marco and 
Redfield paced around and around the camp. They felt 
that it would be dangerous to rely on signals, since the 
wild beasts were all in a state of howling panic. 

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed when the second at- 
tack came — from the opposite side of the inclosure. 

This time the enemy did not succeed in breaking 
through the hedge. A well-delivered volley caught them 
while they were entangled in the meshes of the thorn 
bushes. Another volley drove them back to the jungle. 

The men returned to their posts. Marco and the 
trooper, now more confident than ever, paced up and 
down the camp. 

Suddenly the sentry at the upper end of the inclosure 
uttered a shrill cry and fired his rifle. 

The entire force hastened to the spot just as a desper- 
ate attack began. Half-a-dozen savages had already 
wormed in through the crevices. 

They were armed only with spears, and before they 
could do any damage four were shot dead in their tracks. 
The other two retreated. 

The defenders of the camp dropped flat in the grass, 
and a volley of spears and bullets passed harmlessly over 
them. 

A brief breathing spell ensued. Marco sent Gooloo 


A Flag of Truce. 105 

Singh and Chundra back to their posts, lest the enemy 
should make a second atack on the broken hedge. 

“That’s right, lad,” commented Redfield. “There are 
only eight of us now, but we’ll give a good account of 
ourselves. Look out, here comes the rub!” 

There was a burst of fiendish yells from outside the 
camp. Then — crash ! The cage that blocked the passage 
was tumbled clear off the truck. Its position was not ma- 
terially altered, though the barricade was now three or 
four feet lower. 

Instantly the desperate savages clambered upon the 
fallen cage, ready to leap down into the camp! 

“Fire!” cried Marco, and the repeating rifles mowed 
the enemy aside like ripened grain. 

Some fell backward, carrying down those who were 
scrambling up from behind. Others reeled forward, 
crashing to the ground in limp heaps, and squirming in 
their death agonies. 

A few desperate ruffians jumped into the camp, full of 
life and deviltry, and advanced in the teeth of the fire un- 
til they fell, riddled with bullets. 

Now and then, when the shooting slackened for an in- 
stant, the grim little band heard the crack of rifles in their 
rear. This meant that Gooloo Singh and Chundra were 
resisting a counter-attack. 

But no relief could be spared them now. The savage 
hill-men were still hotly storming the barricade. 

“Fire ! fire !” shouted Redfield. “Keep it up, men !” 

“Make every shot tell!” cried Marco. “They can’t 
stand it long!” 


io6 A Flag of Truce. 

Crack! crack! crack! The murky night blazed with 
red flashes; a pall of smoke hid the heavens. The roars 
of wild beasts blended with the howls of tigerish men. 

Ah ! now the barricade was clear. No more climbed up 
from behind. One frenzied savage, who had toppled into 
the camp, went down before Marco’s rifle. 

That was the last shot. The bloodthirsty foe fell back 
to the jungle, beaten off for the fourth time. Half a score 
of dead cumbered the inner side of the barricade, and no 
doubt many more lay without it. 

There was now comparative silence. The rifles of Goo- 
loo Singh and Chundra were stilled. 

The plucky victors stretched their cramped limbs and 
looked at one another in the smoky gloom. They re- 
loaded their rifles, and stutfed their belts and pockets 
from the ammunition box, which was close by. 

“Any one hurt?” Marco asked, in a husky voice. 

“Not seriously,” responded the trooper. “Dalo here 
has a spear wound in his arm, and a bullet nipped my left 
ear. The rascals had hardly a chance to fire at us. I 
think we’ve settled them for good this time.” 

Marco laughed hoarsely. His head was aching and 
dizzy. He crawled to the water bucket and took a deep, 
long draught. 

Redfield hastened up the camp, and returned a moment 
later. 

“All’s snug in that direction,” he reported. “The ras- 
cals tried to enter by the torn hedge, but the plucky Hin- 
doos drove them back.” 

“Is Gooloo hurt?” asked Marco. 


A Flag of Truce. 


107 


'‘Not a scratch on either of them/’ replied the trooper. 
"One of the hyenas in yonder cage is dead, though. You 
see it was right in the line of the enemy’s fire.” 

"It’s not our loss,” said Marco. "The animal belonged 
to Garcia. I think I’ll move the tiger’s cage a little to 
one side. I’d rather — ^hello! what does that mean?” 

He pointed to a fluttering white object that had sud- 
denly appeared above the barricade. 

"Blest if I know,” muttered Redfield. "Some deviltry, 
I’ll bet a rupee. By Jove ! lad, it must be a ” 

"Flag of truce,” interrupted a clear, ringing voice from 
beyond the barricade, thus completing the trooper’s sen- 
tence. 

The white object rose a little higher. It was a native 
cummerbund attached to the point of a spear. 

"Don’t shoot over there,” the voice went on. "If you 
are civilized you will recognize the flag.” 

"That sounds well from such a pack of devils,*' growled 
Redfield. "What do you want to talk about?” 

"Will you grant me a safe interview?” 

"Yes, a short one. Show up !” 

There was a brief pause. Then the head and shoulders 
of a man rose above the barricade. The dim light sufficed 
to reveal the crafty features of Senor Garcia. 


CHAPTER XV. 


A DEN OF SERPENTS. 

The appearance of the Portuguese was not entirely un- 
expected, for Marco had fathomed a familiar ring in the 
voice. 

So had some one else. Gooloo Singh stood behind the 
little group with a look of interest on his dusky face. 

“Chundra will defend the post, sahib,’’ he whispered in 
the lad’s ear. “I am anxious to hear what this treacher- 
ous dog says.” 

Garcia held up both hands to show that they were 
empty. 

‘Tardon me if I intrude,” he began, in oily, deprecating 
tones. “I have a little matter of business with your leader 
— a lad named Marco.” 

“Pll speak for him, you scoundrel !” replied Redfield, 
nervously fingering his rifle. “There’s nothing you can 
say that will help your case any. You’ll repent this dirty 
trick when Her Majesty’s Government gets hold of you. 
I hope ril be with the squad that runs you and your hired 
bloodhounds down !” 

Garcia laughed — a curt, mocking laugh that stung his 
hearers to the quick. 

“My friend, you speak boldly for a rat in a trap,” he 
said. “But I must see the lad, and none other. He has 


A Den of Serpents. 109 

the lives of all of you in his power. They are lost if he 
denies me an interview.’' 

“Pay no attention, sahib,” whispered Gooloo Singh. 
“He is not to be trusted.” 

“No more than a cobra,” added Redfield. “Some dev- 
iltry is brewing in his brain.” 

“But it may be to our advantage,” protested Marco. 
“Anyhow, there is no danger while the truce lasts.” 

He resolutely advanced to within ten feet of the bar- 
ricade, carrying his rifle carelessly in one hand. The 
others kept a keen watch on the Portuguese, ready to 
fire at the first sign of treachery. 

“Well, here I am,” said Marco. “What do you want?” 
“The surrender of the camp,” replied Garcia, “and the 
restoration of my animals and property. On my part, I 
agree to spare the lives of all, and to take nothing that is 
not my own. I will also forgive the personal wrongs 
you have done me.” 

“Forgive !” exclaimed Marco, wrathfully. “Senor Gar- 
cia, you are the most impudent rascal that ever lived. 
This interview may as well end. I shall hold the camp. 
If you want your property, appeal to the authorities.” 

“Stop !” cried the Portuguese. “Do you realize what a 
refusal means? I have four score of desperate savages 
left. At each attack to-night I called them back. I was 
merely testing your powers. Now I shall unleash them. 

I shall bid them do their worst. They will attack the 
camp at one point. At most you will shoot down a score. 
The rest will have you at their mercy. And such mercy ! 
Ah, it will be a great revenge. Do you still refuse?” 


110 


A Den of Serpents. 

“Yes,” replied Marco. “You can’t scare me with your 
♦bluster. And now ” 

Crack! With lightning-like rapidity, the Portuguese 
had whipped out a pistol and fired at the lad. The ball 
whizzed within an inch of Marco’s head, and narrowly 
missed his companions. 

Gooloo Singh and Redfield instantly returned the fire, 
but Garcia had dropped behind the cage. The cummer- 
bund fluttered for a moment and then disappeared. 

Gooloo Singh caught Marco in his arms. 

“Are you hurt, sahib?” he cried, anxiously. 

“No ; but it was a close call,” replied the lad. “I didn’t 
expect such treachery.” 

“The fiend shall pay dearly ,for it,” declared Redfield. 
“Back, all of you. This is a dangerous spot just now.” 

The trooper was right. The little group had barely 
moved to one side and thrown themselves flat when spears 
and rifle balls whistled into the camp. 

These hostile demonstrations quickly ceased, and the 
jungle beyond the barricade became silent. 

“Garcia’s talk about taking the camp was only bluster, 
of course,” said Marco, a little uneasily. 

“Certainly,” replied Redfield, “else he would not have 
been so angered by your refusal to surrender.” 

“But he will do his best to carry out the threat now,” 
said Gooloo Singh. “There is grave danger, sahib. 
Moreover, if he have four-score of men left ” 

“I’m a little doubtful myself. I’ll admit,” interrupted 
the trooper. “If the devils had made one more rush the 
last attack I’m afraid we should have been snowed under. 


Ill 


A Den of Serpents. 

Suppose we send a man to the military cantonments at 
Barakar ? There’s a chance to slip out of camp now. If 
he gets through all right Clemson and the troopers will 
be here by noon to-morrow.” 

This plan needed no discussion. It was eagerly ap- 
proved. 

“Garcia will be nicely trapped if he keeps the siege up 
long enough,” said Marco. 

‘Tf he keeps it up that long we’ll hardly be here to 
welcome the soldiers,” muttered Redfield, in an under- 
tone. 

Gooloo Singh nodded significantly, and there was a 
worried expression on his face as he glanced at Marco. 

Two of the natives volunteered for the journey. No 
doubt both were actuated by a desire to get away from 
that doomed camp. 

The choice fell on Salar, the younger of the two. He 
was a fleet runner, and, moreover, was well acquainted 
with the road to the cantonments. 

He received his instructions and then crept softly to 
the rear end of the camp. His companions heard a slight 
rustling and crackling as he forced his way through the 
hedge. 

A moment later a terrible shriek rang on the night, and 
was followed by a hoarse, exultant cry. Words could not 
have made the story plainer. The messenger had been 
butchered by the enemy. 

Salar’s friends were powerless to avenge him. At first 
they were dumb with horror. Then a fearful rage made 
them thirst for blood. 


112 


A Den of Serpents. 


“Wait !” cried Redfield. “We’ll pay them for this. Our 
chance will come.” 

“I wish it would come now,” added Marco. “And I 
hope Garcia will lead the next rush.” 

“Do nothing rash, sahibs,” warned Gooloo Singh. 
“There is no aid to be looked for from the soldiers. We 
must hold the camp until the siege is raised.” 

Five minutes of silent suspense went by. Every man 
examined his weapon. Only seven were left — seven 
against four-score ! 

Marco and Redfield paced along opposite sides of the 
camp, with eyes and ears on the alert. 

The lad paused a moment before a long, shallow cage 
that was not on trucks like the others. It rose only six 
feet from the ground. 

“Here is a weak place,” he reflected. “The savages 
could easily swarm over. I wonder Garcia has not dis- 
covered it long ago.” 

The face of this cage was covered with wire netting, 
and it was partitioned into three compartments. Here, 
amid grass and stones, lived a colony of serpents. 

Half-a-score of deadly cobras occupied one compart- 
ment. In the next were other serpents, almost equally 
venomous. The third held a huge and very ill-natured 
python. 

Just as Marco moved on, the jungle outside echoed to 
the rustle of many feet. The next instant the thorn 
hedge was torn apart, and the savages came with a dash 
against the serpent cage. 

But they failed to push it in, since Marco had taken 


A Den of Serpents. 113 

the precaution to drive heavy stakes in front of it. 
Foiled in this, they swarmed upon the top of it, uttering 
fierce yells, shooting muskets and hurling spears. 

By this time the handful of defenders were on the spot, 
and a deadly rifle fire made havoc with the foe. 

In the midst of the conflict, a keen watch was kept 
on the entrance of the camp. Gooloo Singh and Chun- 
dra were ready to rush to the spot at the first sign of a 
counter attack. 

But Garcia seemed to have rallied his entire force at 
one place, as he had sworn to do. With utter contempt 
of the hail of bullets, the fiendish wretches surged over 
the cage, and plunged into the camp. 

The defenders were compelled to fall back a little, still 
shooting incessantly. With fear and rage they saw half- 
a-dozen of the foe pressing them face to face. Others 
were dropping down from the cage every second. The 
living trampled over the dead and dying. 

A shower of spears was hurled, and the native at 
Marco’s side was pierced from breast to back. He fell 
with a groan. Only six men left now! 

Redfield’s voice rang hoarsely above the tumult : 

‘‘Give them another volley ! Drive them back. Fire ! 
fire I” 

The rifles spit out flame and lead. Here and there 
dusky wretches bit the ground in their death agonies. 
But they were instantly replaced. There semed no 
checking the foe now. 

At this critical and desperate moment a horrible disas- 
ter befell the hill men, The top of the cage was of thin 


A Den of Serpents. 


114 

planking. It suddenly gave way with a crash, and eight 
or ten of the savages went down among the serpents. 

They instantly discovered their frightful peril. With 
bloodcurdling screams, they fought like madmen to 
escape. 

In their struggles, the cage was overturned, and snakes 
and savages swarmed out together among the half-score 
hill men who had gained a foothold within the camp. 

No tongue or pen can describe the awful scenes that 
followed. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE EXPLOSION. 

The bravest of men are likely to meet, some day, a 
peril that will turn their long-tried courage to wax. 

And so it was now. The struggle for the camp was 
forgotten in the presence of this horde of hissing, venom- 
ous serpents. 

The snakes, roused to anger and activity, sprang and 
bit right and left at the half-naked bodies of the savages. 
Every nip of the sharp fangs meant speedy and certain 
death. Wails of keenest agony echoed far and near 
through the jungle. 

One after another the victims fell, tearing at their bit- 
ten limbs, through which the poison was swiftly coursing. 
Some staggered away from the fatal spot before they 
reeled dowm. 

A very few escaped entirely. They fled unmolested 
across the camp, and scrambled over the barricade. 

The panic spread to those in the jungle behind the up- 
set cage. Fearing a like fate, they scurried away from 
the infected neighborhood. 

The worst was over in a very short time. The wails 
of the dying grew feebler and feebler. There was less 
movement in the squirming heap of bodies. Here and 
there they could be seen crawling painfully away from the 
spot. 


ii6 The Explosion. 

One poor wretch, with a cobra fastened to his naked 
arm, bit the reptile in the throat, and then fell over dead. 

Another, around whose leg was circled a thick, green 
serpent, sprang, by a spasmodic effort, almost to Marco’s 
feet, and lay there screaming with agony. 

But help was out of the question. The little handful 
of brave men had their own safety to look after. Amid 
all the horrors, their first thought was for the camp. 

Moreover, the serpents were now spreading. In all 
directions the ugly scintillating forms went hissing and 
gliding through the trampled grass. 

A cobra reared its hooded head within three feet of 
Marco, and was struck down by Gooloo Singh’s rifle. 
Another was ground to death under Redfield’s booted 
heel. 

“Back! back!” cried the trooper. “We can’t stay here. 
There is death in every step.” 

“We’ve got to face the serpents,” exclaimed Marco. 
“The camp must be protected. A fresh attack may come 
at any minute.” 

“True, sahib,” replied Gooloo Singh, “there are three 
score of the foe left.” 

With cautious tread the little party of six retreated a 
few feet. Then they stood in anxious indecision, scanning 
the sides of the camp. 

No one saw the python drag his thick coils over the 
heap of dead and dying. Indeed, no one remembered his 
existence. 

He had just left the cage, where he had lain stupidly 
during all the panic. Now he was thoroughly aroused. 


The Explosion. 


117 


He was hungry and ill-tempered. His wicked eyes 
sparkled as he glided toward the unsuspecting group. 

Suddenly Chundra gave an awful yell, and his horrified 
companions fled to right and left as they saw him in the 
embrace of the slimy monster. 

Two coils encircled the poor Hindoo. His bones 
cracked with a sickening sound, and his cries ended in a 
gurgling wail. The python’s head darted to and fro, 
hissing and spitting. 

Marco uttered an exclamation of rage. He reversed 
his rifle and daringly sprang forward, watching a chance 
to strike. 

“Back, sahib, for your life !” warned Gooloo Singh. 

“It’s too late to do any good,” cried Redfield. “Look 
out ! Give me a chance to shoot.” 

These instructions confused Marco, and threw him 
momentarily off his guard. That quickly the python’s tail 
whisked alongside of him, and coiled about his legs, 
jerking him to the ground. 

He gave himself up for lost. With a frightful cry, he 
struggled vainly to escape. He shrilly implored aid. 

The sight of the lad’s peril goaded Gooloo Singh to 
desperation. He cocked his rifle, and recklessly ran up 
to the python’s swaying head. He poked the muzzle into 
the open mouth and fired twice. 

Both the balls went through a vital part. The reptile 
writhed and squirmed in its death agonies, thumping its 
pondrous coils over the ground. Its eyes emitted sparks ; 
it hissed like a steam valve. 

Chundra was silent, but Marco’s screams chilled every 


ii8 The Explosion. 

heart. Gooloo Singh fired bullet after bullet into the 
monster. 

Meanwhile, Redfield had dashed to the tent. Now he 
returned with a gleaming ax. He ran at the python, and 
attacked the thick body midway between the two victims. 

Thud! thud! thud! Every stroke told, in spite of the 
fearful contortions. The ax flashed faster. 

Rip ! the monster fell apart, cloven fairly in two. Lit- 
tle fountains of blood spurted over the ground, and up to 
Redfield’s middle. 

The trooper uttered a cry of satisfaction. He stag- 
gered back, panting and exhausted. 

At last the monster’s vitality was destroyed. Its twin 
bodies stirred but feebly. 

Gooloo Singh’s eager hands tore Marco loose. Beyond 
a slight bruising, he was absolutely uninjured. Happily, 
the reptile’s strength had been most centered on the un- 
fortunate Hindoo. 

Chundra was just breathing his last. The body was 
so tightly wrapped in the slimy coils that it could not be 
liberated. 

Gooloo Singh ran for water, and dashed it over Marco’s 
head. He felt better at once, and in a moment or two 
had quite recovered. 

All were depressed by the sad tragedy. The sultry 
night seemed to whisper of worse misfortunes to come. 

“Five left,” said Redfield, huskily. “We’re no match 
for that fiend of a Portuguese. I’ve little heart to fight 
against such odds.” 

“But the luck has really been on our side,” said Marco, 


The Explosion. 119 

with a show of cheerfulness. “The savages have had to 
retreat every time. They’ll hardly make another attack.” 

“Not of their own free will,” muttered the trooper. 
“I’ll grant that. But as long as they obey Garcia’s or- 
ders there’s no telling ” 

“Look, sahibs,” shrilly interrupted Gooloo Singh. 
“There — at the end of the camp.” 

All eyes followed the Hindoo’s outstretched arm. They 
saw an ominous sight. A ruddy glare danced above the 
barricade. Evidently a lot of dry grass had been heaped 
against the cage and set on fire. 

“We must put it out,” cried Marco, dashing toward the 
spot. “There are eight or nine pails of water left.” 

“It’s madness, lad!” exclaimed the trooper; but never- 
theless he followed with the others. 

They secured the buckets and fearlessly approached the 
barricade. Just then a score of forked flames leaped out 
of the dense yellow smoke. They hissed and crackled 
about the woodwork of the doomed cage. 

“It would take a reservoir to put that out,” cried the 
trooper. “It’s all up with the camp now. It’s even 
doubtful if we can save our lives.” 

“You mean that the camp is surrounded?” said Marco. 
“Well, I’m afraid you’re right. It’s hard to die like rats 
in a trap. And it’s my fault, too.” 

“If it comes to the worst, we’ll sell our lives dearly,” re- 
plied Redfield. “But a bold rush may take us safely into 
the jungle. Are you ready to try it?” 

No one replied ; no one stirred. They stood for a mo- 


120 


The Explosion. 

ment in bitter despair. They were blind to their ex- 
posed position; for all around them was a bright red 
light. 

The flames spread and crackled. The poor beasts, im- 
prisoned in their cages, roared and screamed at the ap- 
proaching death. 

But, strange to say, the enemy fired no shots at the 
clearly-outlined little group; not a spear whizzed. 

Nor was there any indication of life outside. To all 
sight and sound the jungle beyond the barricade was de- 
serted. 

‘T know why the rascals are so quiet,” suddenly cried 
Marco. “They are keeping at a safe distance. That 
burning cage belonged to Garcia, and among the con- 
tents are two cans of powder ” 

“Powder?” interrupted Redfield. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes; because I opened one of the cans. I had for- 
gotten all about it. But Garcia remembered, and that is 
why he made the fire.” 

“He wished to blow the passage free,” added Gooloo 
Singh. “Then they will rush in.” 

“God help us!” cried the trooper. “And the cage is 
now wrapped in flames. At any instant the fire may 
reach the powder. Back — ^back for your lives! It is 
death to linger here.” 

Just then, and before a single one could heed the warn- 
ing, there came a tremendous explosion that seemed to 
rend the very earth asunder. A sheet of flame rose 
heavenward, and immediately afterward the air was black 


I2I 


The Explosion. 

with shattered timbers and wheels, and iron bolts, and 
clods of earth, and a host of smaller debris. 

The force of the explosion hurled the occupants of the 
camp to the ground, where they lay, dazed and stunned, 
while the shower of wreckage fell around them, and the 
suffocating smoke filled their nostrils. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A TIMEI.Y RESCUE. 

Fortunately, the little group had been far enough away 
to escape serious injury. A vague sense of impending 
danger took hold of their reeling brains. They rose 
dizzily, and looked about them. 

Where the barricade had been was now a great black 
rent in the ground. The cages to right and left of the 
passage had also been destroyed — or partially so. 

In one, a mangled leopard was screaming in agony. 
From the shattered timbers of the other protruded the 
dead bodies of the two hyenas ; one had been dead before 
the explosion. 

The occupants of all the other cages were making a 
fearful din. The whole scene was still brightly illumined 
by fragments of burning wood. 

The time during which Marco and his companions 
stood gazing stupidly about them was in reality very 
brief, though it seemed long to their dazed minds. 

They were roused from their stupefaction by a sudden 
burst of angry yells. Through the shattered barricade 
streamed a horde of savages. From the center of the 
mob towered Garcia^s lean figure. 

A single glance showed the impossibility of resisting 
such a charge. 


123 


A Timely Rescue. 

'‘Run — run for your lives !” cried Redfield. 

He dashed toward the rear of the camp, and the others 
followed as fast as their staggering limbs would carry 
them. 

Close behind pressed the merciless and bloodthirsty 
hill men. Rifles cracked and spears whistled through the 
air. 

The fugitives were now in deeper shadow. A little 
more, and they would be safe. Redfield, Marco and Goo- 
loo Singh were slightly in advance. Dalo and the other 
native, whose name was Pandy, ran a foot or two in the 
rear. 

. Suddenly Pandy gave a shrill yell. A cobra had fast- 
ened upon his ankle. As the stricken man reeled in 
agony, a rifleball pierced his head, and mercifully ended 
his suffering. He fell in a limp heap. 

Meanwhile, Marco had imprudently checked his speed 
to look around, and at the same time Dalo, by a quick 
spurt, gained the lad’s place between the trooper and 
Gooloo Singh. 

Seeing that Pandy was beyond help, Marco dashed on 
after his companions. But before he had taken three 
steps, his foot caught in a clump of tangled grass. Down 
he went, striking his head so forcibly on a tough root as 
to partly lose consciousness. 

In the dim light, the trooper and Gooloo Singh did not 
discover the substitution of Dalo for the lad. They 
pushed on at full speed, fearful of being overtaken and 
butchered. 

They reached the end of the camp, and dived under 


124 


A Timely Rescue. 


the nearest cage. Amid deep gloom they fought their 
way through the hedge of thorns. Bleeding and lacer- 
ated, they staggered into the jungle. 

Then, for the first time, they discovered the lad v/as 
missing. 

Let us go back and see how Marco fared. He was 
roused from his half-stupor by a rush of naked feet that 
trampled ruthlessly over him. 

Smarting with pain, he struggled to an upright posi- 
tion. He v/as instantly seized from behind, and, turning 
around, he found himself in the iron grasp of Garcia. 

Marco gave himself up for lost. He trembled to think 
what his fate would be. He was too weak to resist. He 
was like a child in his captor’s grasp. 

“Aha ! this is rare luck,” hissed the Portuguese. “You 
see, I have kept my word. And it was you I wanted 
most. I am glad now that my pistol shot failed. I will 
settle old scores in much better fashion.” 

“Have mercy,” pleaded Marco, as he looked vainly 
around for his friends. “Don’t kill me.” 

Garcia laughed mockingly. 

“Back, you dogs!” he shouted at the fiendish savages, 
who were swarming around the two. “Leave the 
prisoner to me. I will glut your hunger for revenge soon 
enough.” 

They sullenly withdrew, and went yelling across the 
camp after their comrades. 

An instant later Garcia was joined by two other Portu- 
guese — ^the same who had escaped from Matlock’s party 
during the fight in the gorge. Their names were Gon- 


A Timely Rescue. 125 

zales and Towes, and they were every whit as evil-looking 
as their leader. They glared ferociously at Marco. 

'‘You see I have the lad/’ said Garcia. “That satisfies 
me. The others escaped to the jungle, and it is useless 
to pursue them.” 

“It is a pity,” replied Towes. “They will hurry to the 
nearest cantonment, and send the cavalry on our tracks.” 

“And the explosion may have been heard there,” added 
Gonzales, uneasily. “We had better get away from here 
as quickly as possible.” 

“Cowards !” exclaimed Garcia. “Still, you are right. 
But first I will have my revenge. Call back these sav- 
ages, if they have been foolish enough to pursue the fugi- 
tives into the jungle. Be quick, I need you.” 

However, the hill men had gone no farther after Red- 
field and his companions than to the end of the camp. 

Since their lust for blood could not be appeased, they 
turned their thoughts to plunder. Some lit torches, and 
groped among the bodies of the dead, uttering wailing 
cries. 

Others ripped the tent apart, and fell to quarreling 
over the contents. They discovered several bottles of 
strong liquor — ^provided by Matlock for medicinal pur- 
poses — and began to drink it greedily. 

Towes and Gonzales tried their best to restore order, 
but with little success. 

Then they returned to their leader, who had been wait- 
ing impatiently for them, while he kept a tight hold on 
Marco. 


126 


A Timely Rescue. 

'‘The wretches are beyond control,’^ said Gonzales. 
“They won’t listen to us.” 

“Let them alone,” cried Garcia, angrily. “I’ll attend 
to them when I finish this business. Here, take the lad. 
It will cost you your life if you let him slip away.” 

He turned Marco over to the two Portuguese, Then 
he snatched a torch from one of the savages, and hurried 
across the camp. 

“This way,” he shouted, a moment later. 

Gonzales and Towes dragged the lad over to Garcia, 
who was standing before the cage that contained the Ben- 
gal tiger. 

The huge beast was pacing restlessly up and down, 
growling in a low key. He was plainly in a very bad 
temper, and this was aggravated by the howling of the 
other animals and the glare of the torches. 

On Garcia’s face was a smile of deadly hatred and satis- 
faction. His white teeth gleamed under his parted lips. 

“How do you like my revenge?” he asked. 

Marco’s blood turned chill with horror. He suddenly 
realized his awful fate. The Portuguese intended to 
throw him into the tiger’s cage. 

He first made a desperate effort to escape. Then he 
pleaded pitifully for mercy, turning from one to another 
of his captors. His courage could not stand such a fear- 
ful test. 

“If you must take my life,” he implored, “kill me in 
some other way. Don’t torture me.” 

But the poor lad appealed to deaf ears and merciless 
hearts. 


A Timely Rescue. 127 

‘^Ah! you shudder!” cried Garcia. ‘'You suffer with 
fear. This is a sweet revenge. You will make a dainty 
morsel for yonder brute. Look, his jaws are open. The 
great teeth will crunch your bones.” 

He signaled the two Portuguese to draw nearer. Then 
he stepped close up to the bars. Half-a-score of the sav- 
ages gathered about the spot, yelling exultantly. 

The tiger retreated to the rear of the cage. He dropped 
on his haunches, and uttered a low, ominous growl. His 
tongue dangled from his blood-red chops. 

Towes and Gonzales hauled Marco still nearer, in 
spite of his frantic struggles and cries. 

With one hand Garcia fumbled at the fastenings of the 
cage ; in the other he held up the blazing torch so as to 
keep the brute back. He slowly drew the sliding door 
open. 

“Quick!” he cried. “Throw the lad in.” 

As Marco was lifted off his feet by the two Portu- 
guese, he gave a fearful yell, and struggled partly out of 
their grasp. 

Garcia swore savagely, and in his rage he let the 
torch fall to the ground. 

Then quickly the tiger seized the opportunity, and 
leaped forward with a thunderous roar. He stuck fast 
for a second or two in the narrow doorway. 

There he squirmed and struggled for liberty. 

The change of situation was so unexpected that all lost 
their presence of mind. Garcia sprang to one side, and 
went over backward. Townes and Gonzales dropped the 
lad, and started to run. 


128 


A Timely Rescue. 

Smash! rip! the bars of the cage split, and the mad- 
dened tiger was free. With a deep roar, he bounded clear 
over Marco, and pounced upon Gonzales. He shook the 
luckless man as a terrier shakes a rat, and then vaulted 
lightly with him across the camp. 

Confusion and clamor followed. Marco rose to his 
feet, scarcely comprehending what had happened. 

Garcia’s evil eyes caught sight of him, and he fumbled 
hurriedly in his belt for a pistol. He drew out the 
weapon, and turned it on the lad. 

At this critical moment there was a rustling noise close 
by. Then — from under the tiger’s cage burst Redfield, 
Dalo and Gooloo Singh. 

The latter seized Marco, and jerked him down just in 
time to escape Garcia’s bullet. The other two opened a 
hot fire on the badly-demoralized savages. 

Towes was the first to fall, his death cry ringing on his 
lips. Garcia was seen to drop, whether purposely or 
from a wound it was impossible to tell. 

The heroic little handful of rescuers stopped short of 
imprudence. At the first sign of a rally on the part of 
the savages, Redfield gave the order to retreat. 

They crawled swiftly under the cage, and back through 
the broken hedge, taking Marco with them. They 
reached the jungle in safety, and sped rapidly on amid 
the darkness. 

Gooloo Singh’s faithful arms supported Marco, and 
lent him strength and courage. 

In the rear the hoarse yells of the foe grew fainter 
and fainter, until they could no longer be distinguished. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A PERILOUS SWIM. 

A brief halt was made at a small water hole, which 
Redfield accidentally discovered by plunging into it. The 
locality was a dangerous one, since wild beasts could be 
heard in all directions. 

Marco drank his fill, and then bathed his face. He was 
still nervous from his frightful experience with Garcia. 
He listened with interest to the narrative of his rescue, 
modestly told by Gooloo Singh. 

“We’ve had enough of the past,” said Redfield. “It’s 
the future that concerns us now. Unless we hurry, those 
bloody devils will creep ahead, and watch for us at the 
river ford. Dalo, you are skilled in jungle craft. Can 
you take us straight to Barakar?” 

“Yes, sahib,” replied the shikaree, “I can do it. I need 
neither sun nor stars.” 

“Go ahead, then. I’m itching to get the cavalry after 
these savages before they escape to the hills. And I want 
to see Garcia caught — unless he’s dead, which I doubt.” 

“How about the camp?” asked Marco. 

“There won’t be much left there worth saving,” re- 
sponded the trooper. “They will probably burn every- 
thing. But I hope, for your sake, that they won’t, lad.” 
Marco’s heart was sad as he followed his companions 


130 


A Perilous Swim. 


tlirough the jungle. He knew that he was really not to 

A 

blame — that he had defended his trust even beyond dis- 
cretion, But, nevertheless, he dreaded telling the news 
to Matlock and Hof stein. 

This feeling wore off after a time. Indeed, there was 
too much else to think of. The fugitives were by no 
means out of danger. 

With their weapons ready for use, they crept along in 
single file, Dalo at the head. They had to cling to one 
another for fear of becoming separated and lost. 

It was no easy task to pick a way through the fast- 
nesses of the jungle by night. The shikaree made fre- 
quent halts. Twice he actually branched off in the wrong 
direction. 

On these occasions he was recalled to the right path 
only by catching a scant glimpse of the stars through the 
matted foliage. 

Thus valuable time was lost. The flight had lasted for 
a good hour and a half when the jungle finally fell away, 
and revealed the misty river swirling on its course to the 
sea. 

The little party halted anxiously at the water's edge. 

‘T don't recognize the place," exclaimed Redfield. 
“It's not where Captain Clemson led us across." 

“The ford is a quarter of a mile up stream," replied 
Dalo, pointing to the north. “Come, sahibs, I will 
quickly take you there." 

“Hold on," said the trooper. “It’s just as well that we 
struck the river here. We had best not venture up 


A Perilous Swim. 


above. As likely as not the savages have reached the 
ford and are watching it.” 

‘^But here the water is deep,” protested Marco. “We 
must swim.” 

“And there are crocodiles,” added Gooloo Singh. 

“Well,” replied the trooper, “we stand a better chance 
of keeping them off by swimming. We can splash with 
our feet and scare them. If we wade, that is impossible.” 

“The sahib speaks wisely,” said Dalo. “Look! that 
will serve to support our arms while we swim.” 

He pointed to a bare and whitened trunk of a tree, 
about eight feet long, that lay on the edge bf the shore. 

“Just the thing,” approved Redfield. “It will be a 
great help in crossing. Once on the other side, we can 
feel safe. It will soon be daylight now.” 

With Dalo’s assistance, he dragged the log partly into 
the water. 

Suddenly Marco uttered a low cry. 

“Wait,” he said. “I have just remembered something. 
There ought to be a boat concealed in the bushes about 
fifty yards above the ford. Matlock bought it from some 
natives for the use of Dalo and Chundra when they 
crossed the river to seek for animals.” 

“It is still there, sahib,” the shikaree reluctantly ad- 
mitted. “I, too, had forgotten.” 

It was evident from his manner that he did not wish to 
remember. 

“A boat!” exclaimed Redfield. “That alters the situa- 
tion. It would be foolish to run the risk of crocodiles 


132 


A Perilous Swim. 


when we can cross in safety. And there is a risk, I sup- 
pose.” 

“A g’rave one, sahib,” admitted Gooloo Singh. “At 
times the crocodiles are more than usually ravenous.” 

There was a moment of hesitation. The danger of 
falling into an ambuscade at the ford was not imaginary. 
There was strong reason to believe that the savages were 
in hiding there. 

Dalo flatly refused to stir. He urged the others to 
swim across by means of the log. 

‘T will bring the boat,” Marco calmly declared. “I am 
a good runner, and I know how to slip up stream with- 
out noise. When I get near the ford, I will make a de- 
tour.” 

“I will go with you, sahib,” replied Gooloo Singh, in a 
determined tone. 

Redfield reluctantly consented. 

“I am as clumsy as an elephant,” he said, “or I would 
go with you myself. The savages could hear me fifty 
yards away. Dalo and I will wait here.” 

“Well, we won’t be long,” replied Marco. 

“We will paddle out into the stream, and then lie flat 
while the boat drifts down. In the darkness it will look 
like a log. It is only a rude dug-out, anyhow.” 

Without further words, the two volunteers slipped 
noiselessly up the shore, keeping under cover of the grass 
and bushes. They made good use of eyes and ears, and 
were prepared to fire at the first sign of an enemy. 
IMarco knev/ the exact spot where the boat was moored 
to an overhanging tree. 


A Perilous Swim. 


133 


The jungle back from the river was intensely quiet. 
There was no sound of bird or beast. To Gooloo Singh’s 
experienced mind, this was an ominous sign. 

All went well until the fording place was about twenty 
yards distant. Then Marco turned at right angles. 

“Here is where we must begin to cut around,” he 
whispered. “I don’t believe there is any danger, though.” 

“But it is not certain, sahib/’ replied the Hindoo. 
“Make no noise.” 

Side by side they crept through the strip of grass and 
scrub that extended a dozen feet from the water’s edge. 
Then came a scant slope of open ground, on top of which 
began the jungle. 

Marco was the first to mount this slope, and just as he 
put foot on the level, a dusky figure rose in front of him, 
scarcely six feet away. 

The lad was startled out of his self-possession, and 
thereby his life was probably saved. He slipped back- 
ward, and rolled down the slope. 

After him came the savage, brandishing a long spear. 
He cleared the slope in two leaps, not observing the Hin- 
doo as he passed him. 

Meanwhile Marco had risen to his feet. He had 
dropped his rifle, but there was no time to look for it now. 
He dashed straight toward the river. 

At that critical moment, when the savage was about to 
drive his spear into the lad’s back, Gooloo Singh’s rifle 
cracked. The wretch leaped high in air with a shrill cry, 
and fell over in a squirming heap. 

A rustling noise caused the Hindoo to wheel quickly 


134 


A Perilous Swim. 


around, and he found himself face to face with a second 
savage who had just plunged down the slope. 

At such close quarters it was impossible to shoot. 
With a lightning-like movement, Gooloo Singh knocked 
up his enemy’s spear, and then struck him with the rifle. 
The blow shattered the fellow’s skull, and he rolled over 
like a log. 

By this time Marco had found his gun, and was ready 
to take a hand in the fray. But no more of the foe ap- 
peared. The two had probably been posted on the spot 
as sentries. 

It was quickly evident, however, that a nest of savages 
were lurking in the vicinity of the ford, and that the re- 
port of the rifle had roused them. The night rang with 
hoarse cries; a commotion was heard in the jungle. 

“Run, sahib,” cried the Hindoo. “The boat is lost to 
us. We must hurry back to our companions and swim 
the river.” 

Side by side they sped down the shore, leaping the 
grass and scrub like deer. The racket in the rear seemed 
to keep pace with them. Evidently the enemy were in 
hot pursuit. 

When more than half the distance was covered, the 
fugitives met Dalo and the trooper, who had pluckily 
started to the rescue. 

A brief explanation was given, and then all four has- 
tened on. They reached the spot, and delayed only long 
enough to throw off their heavier articles of clothing. 

They waded eagerly into the water, pushing the log in 


A Perilous Swim. 


135 

front of them. Its top was flat, and afforded an insecure 
resting place for their rifles. 

Now they were swimming diagonally across the cur- 
rent, clinging with both hands to the log, while they 
splashed vigorously with their feet to scare away the 
crocodiles. 

With fierce cries the savages swarmed down to the 
shore. They dared not venture into the water. In vain 
they hurled showers of spears, and discharged matchlocks. 

The fugitives swam on and on, growing more confident 
of safety with every second. 

Midchannel was close at hand. 

Suddenly Dalo uttered a shrill exclamation: 

'‘Look! sahibs,” he cried, hoarsely, as he pointed one 
hand up stream. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A FEARFUI. RETRIBUTION. 

All eyes were instantly turned in the direction desig- 
nated by the shikaree. At a distance of probably a quar- 
ter of a mile up channel, a bulky, black object was visible 
on the water. 

“It must be a mass of driftwood,” declared Redfield. 
“There was no need to scare us so badly, Dalo.” 

“It is the boat, sahibs,” calmly asserted Gooloo Singh. 
“The savages have found it, and are paddling after us.” 

All were convinced that the Hindoo was right. A chill 
of terror struck every heart. 

Nor was absolute proof lacking. A burst of cries 
from the savages on the shore was instantly responded to 
by their comrades adrift on the river. The boat was seen 
to increase its speed ; the beat of paddles could be faintly 
heard. 

“Courage,” whispered Redfield. “We will outwit these 
ruffians yet. But don’t stop splashing, or the crocodiles 
may make short work of us.” 

“The noise will tell our enemies where we are,” grum- 
bled Dalo. 

“No doubt they see us already,” replied the trooper. 
“We can’t expect to remain invisible. Our only hope is 
in speed.” 


A Fearful Retribution. 


137 


The fugitives swam on with the log, splashing more 
vigorously than ever. Owing to the strong current, they 
drifted half-a-dozen yards down stream to every one that 
they made toward the opposite shore. 

They were now beyond the center of the river, and 
consequently safe from the foe on the bank. These, how- 
ever, ran along at a speed that kept them parallel with 
the log, yelling fiercely, shooting matchlocks, and hurling 
spears. 

By this time the boat was straight up stream from the 
fugitives. It loomed nearer and nearer in the misty 
light. The hoarse cries of its occupants told that they 
had sighted their intended victims. 

‘‘The wretches will soon be up with us,” exclaimed 
Marco, glancing despairingly at the yet distant shore. 

: “Unless Garcia is with them, they probably have no 
weapons but spears.” 

“And we have four good rifles,” replied Redfield, divin- 
ing Marco’s thought. “Suppose you and I straddle the 
log, lad, and open fire on the rascals before they get 
within spear range. Fll warrant they will lose no time 
in getting away from us.” 

“Is the log heavy enough?” 

“Yes, for two. Gooloo Singh and the shikaree can 
swim alongside.” 

The trooper’s plan was a feasible one, but it was des- 
tined to be shattered by an unforeseen disaster. 

The ugly snout of a crocodile suddenly appeared on 
the surface of the water twenty feet distant. Dalo 
pointed it out with a shrill cry of fright. 


138 A Fearful Retribution. 

“Splash!” yelled Redfield, “splash for your lives!” 

In the panic and kicking that ensued, the water was 
violently agitated. The fugitives threw too much weight 
upon the log, and, without warning, it rolled entirely 
over. 

All were forced to let go, but the next instant they had 
taken a fresh hold, and were splashing more furiously 
than ever. 

“We have lost the rifles,” Redfield cried, bitterly. 
“They are at the bottom of the river — every one. That 
puts us at the mercy of these ruffians.” 

His companions were thinking less of the weapons than 
of the crocodile. But when they had drifted on for 
twenty yards, they felt safer. The monster seemed to 
have been scared away. 

“Here comes the boat, sahibs,” said Gooloo Singh. “It 
is gaining rapidly.” 

As he spoke, a burst of yells floated over the water. It 
was caught up exultantly by the savages, who were still 
racing along the bank. 

“Hark to the devils,” muttered Redfield. “They know 
weVe in their power. It’s hard to die like helpless dogs. 
We can’t strike a blow in defense.” 

“It is fate, sahibs,” replied Gooloo Singh. “There is 
no chance of reaching the shore, for we are but two- 
thirds of the way across. We must speedily be over- 
taken.” 

Dalo’s courage was gone. He uttered a howl of terror, 
and clung frantically to the log. 

For a moment or two, none spoke. They still splashed 


A Fearful Retribution. 


139 


and kicked as they drove the log toward the distant shore. 
The yelling of their blood-thirsty foes rang on the night 
air. 

Now the pursuing boat was within forty yards. It was 
a long, narrow craft, of very uncouth construction. Its 
gunwales rested low on the water. 

Little wonder, for the boat held eight half-naked 
savages. 

Four were paddling from the stern. The others 
crouched well forward in the bow, and were armed with 
spears and matchlocks. 

The distance lessened to thirty yards — to twenty-five. 
Then the fugitives made a slight spurt, and kept abreast 
of their foes for a moment or two. 

In the presence of this greater danger, they forgot the 
crocodiles. Instead of splashing, they used their legs 
for powerful strokes under water. 

“They’ll open fire on us directly,” muttered Redfield. 
“They’re surely within range now. If we had another 
five minutes we could reach the shore.” 

“I wish we had our rifles,” Marco replied, bitterly. 

At that instant some one on the rear bank of the river 
called out, loudly: 

“Kill all but the lad. A hundred rupees if you take 
him alive and uninjured. Don’t let a man of the others 
escape.” 

The fugitives recognized Garcia’s voice. So the fiend 
had not perished, after all. 

An answer came speedily from the boat: 


140 


A Fearful Retribution. 


'‘It shall be done, sahib. The dogs are in our power. 
We will destroy all but the lad.” 

This speaker also was recognized. It was the voice of 
the traitrous native, Ram. He could be dimly seen 
crouched in the bow of the boat. 

There was a brief interval of silence. The log drifted 
on with its human freight. From overhead the stars 
shone pitilessly down on the scene. 

A look of grim resolve suddenly appeared on Marco’s 
face. His eyes flashed, and he clinched his teeth. His 
companions did not observe this change in the lad. 

Now the boat was less than ten yards away. It came 
gliding on like an avenging spectre. Dalo whimpered 
with fear, and splashed to the farthest end of the log. 

At this critical moment Redfield exclaimed, eagerly: 

“Comrades, we have a chance left. Let us abandon the 
log, and swim in different directions. The boat can pur- 
sue only one at a time. Some of us will escape.” 

“It is good, sahib,” whispered Gooloo Singh. “I will 
draw the enemy after me, thus.” He snatched Marco’s 
cap, and put it on his own head. “They will take me for 
the young sahib,” he added. “I will swim down stream 
while you ” 

“Stop,” interrupted Marco; “you shall not sacrifice 
yourself for me, Gooloo Singh. It is my fault that you 
are all in peril. But for me, Garcia would not have pur- 
sued you from the camp. I have a plan, and if I perish, 
it is only just. I will save your lives!” 

Before the Hindoo could realize what he meant to do, 


A Fearful Retribution. 


141 

Marco let go of the log and dived under water. It was 
done so neatly that the foe saw nothing of it. 

The trooper and his companions stared in horror at the 
spot where the lad had been but a second before. They 
were convinced that he had committed suicide. Gooloo 
Singh uttered a bitter cry. He would have slipped from 
the log had not Redfield caught him. 

In the meantime, Marco was swimming straight up 
stream at a depth of three or four feet below the surface 
of the river. It was an accomplishment in which he was 
well skilled, being long winded. 

Nothing was farther from his mind than suicide. Be- 
fore his breath was spent, he struck gently upward until 
his eyes and nose were out of water. 

To his surprise, the boat was not visible. He turned 
partly around, and saw it six or eight feet below him. 
He instantly dived, and swam hard with the current. 

When next he came to the surface, the stem of the boat 
was right over his head. He reached one hand up, and 
caught it. With the other hand he clutched the low-lying 
gunwale. 

Now the daring lad set his teeth, and exerted all his 
strength in a hard, quick pull. 

The heavily-freighted boat lunged to one side, letting a 
rush of water over the gunwale. Then, without warn- 
ing, it tipped clear over, and the surface of the river was 
agitated by howling, splashing savages. 

Marco dived like a flash, and swam far to one side be- 
fore he ventured to the top. Then, with lusty hand-over- 
hand strokes, he glided down the current and quickly 


142 A Fearful Retribution. 

gained the log, to which his companions were still 
clinging. 

What a welcome he received ! Gooloo Singh and Dalo 
overwhelmed him with praise in true Oriental fashion. 
Redfield clapped him on the back as he dragged him 
alongside the log. 

“It was a brave deed, lad,” he cried; “the bravest I 
ever saw. You ought to be in the service.” 

“It was nothing,” modestly protested Marco. “I am a 
good swimmer — the rest was easy.” 

But all danger was not yet passed. Twenty feet dis- 
tant the savages were splashing about the capsized boat, 
which was so heavy that it barely protruded above the 
surface. They were trying hard to turn it right side up. 
All seemed able to swim. Few, if any, had succeeded 
in holding on to their weapons. 

Those on shore were by this time aware of the disaster. 
Above the yelling Garcia’s voice rose in shrill, unintelli- 
gible commands. 

For nearly a minute, while Marco recovered breath 
after his effort, the fugitives drifted on at an even dis- 
tance from their enemies. 

Then the latter abandoned their attempt to right the 
boat. Three clung to it. The other five started to swim 
for the log. They came on with slow, determined strokes, 
uttering fierce cries. 

The traitorous Ram was a foot or two in the lead, bent 
on earning the hundred rupees offered by Garcia. Be- 
tween his teeth was a short knife. His greedy eyes 
sparkled, for he had already singled out Marco. 


A Fearful Retribution. 


143 


Three of his ruffianly companions carried spears in one 
hand as they swam, while the fourth was armed with a 
paddle. 

It was a critical moment for the fugitives. With un- 
disguised alarm they watched the stealthy advance of the 
five savages. 

“Are you rested, lad?” demanded Redfield, anxiously. 
“Are you ready for another swim?” 

“Yes,” Marco replied. 

“Then we must abandon the log and strike for shore,” 
resumed the trooper. “Our only chance is to outswim 
these wretches. Quick! they are nearly upon us.” 

But just then a horrible thing happened. As Ram was 
within ten feet of the log, he gave a screech of agony. 
For a second he struggled desperately, and threw up his 
arms. Then he vanished from sight, and the spot where 
he had been was slapped into bloody foam and waves by 
the tail of a monstrous crocodile. 

The fugitives were horrified by the well-deserved fate 
of the traitor. The latter’s companions fell into a panic. 
They turned about and swam desperately toward the far- 
thermost shore, where their friends were. 

The three on the drifting boat loosed their hold, and 
struck in the same direction. 

But other crocodiles were hovering in the vicinity, and 
the ferocious reptiles seized the opportunity of gorging 
themselves. 

Here and there amid the swimming savages a scaly 
snout broke the surface, or a capacious jaw opened wide. 
Two victims were seized at once, and their death cries 


144 


A Fearful Retribution. 


rent the air. Then a third was dragged under and 
mangled. 

It was a terrible retribution that had descended upon 
the blood-thirsty wretches. 

Meanwhile, the fugitives had wisely abandoned the log 
— which only retarded their speed — and were swimming 
furiously toward the near-looming and friendly shore. 

*‘We shall soon be there,” cried Redfield. “Swim 
faster, comrades. Don’t forget to splash — that will scare 
the monsters away.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


A STRANGE MEETING. 

Side by side the fugitives pushed on with vigorous 
strokes. Behind them rang the blood-curdling yells of 
the poor wretches who were battling for life with the 
swift river and the crocodiles. 

Marco, glancing over his shoulder, was horrified to see 
two black snouts within a dozen feet. His piercing cry 
warned his companions of the danger. 

Redfield wisely changed his course, and swam straight 
down stream with the current. Gooloo Singh and Marco 
followed him, but Dalo paddled on against the current. 

One crocodile turned clumsily, and struck after the 
trooper and his companions; the other headed for the 
shikaree. 

Dalo saw his danger, and was fairly paralyzed with 
fright. He uttered yell after yell, and splashed the water 
into foam. Then, with a last gurgling cry, as the mon- 
ster seized him, he vanished forever. 

The awful sounds told the luckless man’s companions 
what had happened. The same fate threatened them, for 
the second crocodile was in hot pursuit. 

They headed straight for the shore, and swam with des- 
perate overhand strokes. Faster and faster came the sav- 
age monster, his jaws rippling the surface. Now the 


146 


A Strange Meeting. 




shore was but twenty feet away. A few more seconds 
would decide the race. 

All at once the imperiled men touched sandy bottom. 
They dashed forward waist deep. The water shallowed 
to their knees — to their ankles. 

Panting and exhausted, they stumbled out upon the 
reedy shore, and, wheeling around, they saw the baffled 
monster retreat sullenly to deep water. 

At last the fugitives were safe. With thankful hearts 
they crept up the bank, and dropped down for a brief 
rest. They were overcome with horror. For a time 
speech was impossible. 

■ It was now that darkest hour of the night which always 
precedes the dawn. Not a sound came from the river or 
the farther shore. It was doubtful if any of the boat’s 
crew had escaped. 

“What a night this has been,” said Marco. “Of all the 
force at camp, you and I are the only ones left, Gooloo. 
I mean of those who were in Matlock’s employ.” 

“True, sahib,” replied the Hindoo, “and it is the fault 
of the cavalry officer, Sahib Clemson. He refused to 
leave a strong guard.” 

“You’ve got some ground for your complaint,” ad- 
mitted Redfield, “but I’ll warrant you Captain Clemson 
will make up for it when he gets on the track of these 
fiends.” 

“That won’t bring back the dead,” said Marco, in an 
undertone. “Poor Dalo ! it was hard that he should per- 
ish when so near safety.” 

“Ay, bitterly hard,” replied the trooper. “But the dead 


147 


A Strange Meeting. 

shall be avenged. I would give an arm to see that devil 
of a Portuguese blown from a gun — as our fellows served 
the Sepoys in the Great Mutiny.’’ 

“Then let us start,” suggested the Hindoo, “for the 
savages will lose no time in getting back to their moun- 
tain fastnesses.” 

“And the cantonments are some miles distant,” added 
Marco. “We must travel rapidly.” 

A few moments later the fugitives were pushing on 
through the jungle. They had drifted a mile or more 
below the ford, so they had no alternative but to guess at 
the proper direction. 

It was a trying journey. They were unarmed and 
dripping wet. They were weak from hunger and ex- 
haustion. The danger from wild beasts was by no means 
slight. 

One thing was a constant spur to their jaded limbs — 
the thought that Garcia and his band of assassins were 
speeding farther and farther away. 

Shortly after dawn the little party stumbled upon a 
camp of hunters in the midst of the jungle. Two tents 
were staked by a water pool. In front of them, on camp- 
stools, sat four Englishmen. The shikarees were over- 
hauling the guns for the day’s sport, and the camp serv- 
ants were cooking breakfast. 

The fugitives were eagerly welcomed, and when they 
had briefly told their tragic story, they were supplied with 
food and drink by the sympathetic Englishmen. 

They learned that they were somewhat out of their 
way, and the offer of a guide to conduct them to the 


148 A Strange Meeting. 

nearest jungle road was gratefully accepted. This road, 
the Englishmen said, would lead to Barakar. 

After a stay of less than fifteen minutes in the hunters’ 
camp, Marco and his companions found themselves trav- 
ersing a mere elephant path through the jungle. The 
guide marched confidently at the head. 

Suddenly the loud report of a shotgun was heard close 
by. 

“Hullo, what does that mean?” exclaimed Redfield. 

“It is one of my party, sahibs,” replied the guide. “He 
rose early in order to shoot before breakfast.” 

Just then the sportsman stepped into view a few yards 
ahead. He was a tall, middleaged man with a coal-black 
beard and mustache — apparently an Englishman. He 
wore gray flannels and a sun-helmet. In one hand was 
his gun ; in the other a brace of jungle fowl. 

As Marco went by and glanced straight into the man’s 
face, he stopped so abruptly that Gooloo Singh bumped 
into him. 

“What is the matter, sahib ?” asked the Hindoo. “Are 
you ill?” 

Marco did not reply. He stumbled on with such a be- 
wildered expression that Redfield looked at him in amaze- 
ment. 

The stranger had been on the point of speaking. But 
when he caught the lad’s glance, his own face turned sud- 
denly pale under the bronzed skin. He fiercely bit his 
lip, and a cruel light came into his eyes. 

He watched the travelers intently until they vanished 
around a bend in the path. 


149 


A Strange Meeting, 

“I can’t be mistaken,” he muttered, as he turned toward 
camp. *‘It is the lad himself. To think that we should 
meet in such a place ! Worst of all, he recognized me 
after all these years. I am sure of it. I was a fool to 
come near India. Well, I must take prompt measures to 
secure myself, cost what it may.” 

Meanwhile Marco had recovered his self-possession. 
He marched on with resolute steps and an impassive face. 
He allowed his companions to believe that he had sud- 
denly been overcome with weakness. 

But the lad’s brain was in a whirl of strange emotions. 
He had recognized the stranger — or at least he thought 
so. 

The face was that of the man who had been his com- 
panion on a railway journey to New York years before 
— who had presumably shipped him on board Captain 
Jar row’s vessel — who knew the secret of his birth and 
early life. 

Little wonder that Marco was puzzled and startled by 
such a discovery. The more he pondered over it, how- 
ever, the less sure he became. He had not observed the 
stranger’s agitation. 

Before he had gone a quarter of a mile, he doubted 
himself. 

'Tt must have been only an accidental resemblance,” he 
reflected. “The face was not so much like his after all. 
What could that man be doing here in an India jungle?” 

When the road was reached, and Marco and his two 
companions pressed on toward Barakar, he dismissed the 


150 A Strange Meeting. 

matter from his mind, and thought only of revenge on 
Garcia and his band. 

In the middle of the morning the jungle fell suddenly 
away to open fields and patches of timber. In the dis- 
tance appeared the squalid houses of Barakar. 

A little later the exhausted fugitives staggered up to 
the white- walled barracks, over which floated the British 
flag. The startling news was quickly told, and in less 
than half an hour two companies of cavalry galloped 
westward out of the village. 

Marco and his companions were unable to accompany 
the expedition. They broke down when the strain was 
over, and the military surgeon ordered them to the hos- 
pital. Two days of sleep and rest restored them, and on 
the third morning they were up and about. 

On the evening of that day the troopers returned with 
bad news. They had taken up the track of the savages, 
and followed them clear to the hills. 

*‘There the wretches scattered in all directions,” said 
Captain Clemson, “and it was useless to pursue them far- 
ther. We came back by way of the camp, and found only 
a circle of ashes. All the cages and property had been 
burned.” 

Marco was sorely distressed by this news. He resolved 
to hurry down to Calcutta, but before he could start, 
Matlock and Hofstein arrived unexpectedly at Barakar. 
They had been discharged for want of witnesses and 
prosecutors. 

Their worst fears were realized when they heard what 
had happened during their absence. They blamed Marco 


A Strange Meeting. 15 1 

in no respect. In fact, they heaped the lad and his com- 
panions with praise. 

Nor, after reflection, did they decide to press any 
charges against Captain Clemson, whose seemingly harsh 
action had been only in accord with his duty. Moreover, 
the officer was sincerely distressed. He promised to com- 
municate with the authorities with a view to capturing 
Garcia and sending a large punitive force against the tur- 
bulent hill men. 

‘ Marco and Gooloo Singh parted regretfully from Red- 
field, and accompanied Matlock and Hofstein to Calcutta, 
where the tidings of the disaster were cabled in brief to 
Carl Richter at New York. 


CHAPTER XXL 


BIRDS OF A FEATHER. 

Carl Richter was a man of energy and ambition, and 
his peculiar business had long ago taught him to regard 
with equanimity either large gains or heavy losses. 
Moreover, he had the utmost faith in Matlock and Hof- 
stein. 

His answer was speedily cabled to Calcutta. It was 
terse and to the point. He exonerated his agents from 
blame. He instructed them to purchase new outfits, and 
start as soon as possible for the province of Assam. 
Here they were to procure a certain number of wild ani- 
mals of various kinds — without regard to expense, and 
bring them in person to New York. 

Matlock and Hofstein were delighted, and Marco pro- 
fessed to share their feelings. In reality, he was disap- 
pointed, for he wished to return to America and seek out 
the mystery of his birth. 

But he was soon consoled by the thought that the delay 
would be only for a few months. 

A week sufficed for such preparations as could be made 
in Calcutta. Meanwhile, no trace had been found of 
Garcia, though the authorities were zealously seeking him 
in Madras and elsewhere. He was supposed to be still 
hiding in the mountains of Bengal. 


Birds of a Feather. 


153 


The animal catchers went north by rail as far as Ran- 
gamati, on the western border of Assam. As yet no ad- 
ditions had been made to the party. It consisted of Mat- 
lock, Hofstein, Marco and Gooloo Singh. 

Then they steamed fifty miles up the great Brahma- 
putra River to Goalpara. Here cages were speedily built, 
and Matlock hired a dozen natives, including a couple of 
skilled shikarees. 

A camp was made among the rugged hills and jungles 
south of the village. Wild animals of all kinds were nu- 
merous, and day by day the work of filling the cages went 
steadily and successfully on. 

At the very outset, a splendid tiger and two panthers 
were secured. In three weeks’ time the order was nearly 
filled, and Matlock predicted that they would be ready to 
return home in another fortnight. 

Meanwhile, he had hired a roomy barge at Goalpara 
from the Assam Navigation Company. In this he in- 
tended to transport the animals down to the Bay of Ben- 
gal. 

Steam power would not be needed until the mouth of 
the river was reached, for the barge was supplied with 
great sweeps, by which it could be easily steered through 
the vast breadth and depth of water. 

We must now take the reader back, both in time and 
distance — back to Calcutta at the date when Marco and 
his companions arrived there from Barakar. 

A different train on that same day brought to the city a 
tall, black-bearded man in shooting attire. It was the 
stranger whom Marco had encountered in the jungle. 


154 


Birds of a Feather. 


From the station he hurried to the nearest native bar- 
ber shop, and had his beard cut off. Then he went to the 
Great Eastern Hotel, and registered under a false name, 
that of Cecil Falconer. 

During the following ten days Mr. Falconer spent 
most of his time in wandering about the streets, fashiort- 
ably attired in white linen and a sola topee (sun hat). 

Among other matters that he busied himself in investi- 
gating was the tragic death of Dan Stapleford, the wild 
animal dealer. 

He readily learned what had become of Stapleford’s 
adopted son, and the latter’s presence in the city was 
doubtless made known to him by the Calcutta papers, 
which contained full accounts of Garcia’s crimes. 

But Mr. Falconer did not encounter Marco in any of 
his walks, nor is it likely that he desired to do so. He 
was merely waiting events, and every day added to his 
anxiety. He felt sure that the lad had recognized him in 
the jungle. 

This conviction gave birth to a murderous feeling in 
Cecil Falconer’s heart. At first he shrank from it with 
horror, but nevertheless it grew upon him. He was play- 
ing for high stakes, and could not afford to lose. 

So the days slipped by. One night, an hour after dark. 
Falconer was strolling along the bank of the Hooghly 
River on the way to his hotel. 

He was in a desperate and evil frame of mind. For 
several hours he had been prowling about Carl Richter's 
warehouses at the suburb of Kidderpore. But he had 


Birds of a Feather. 155 

seen nothing of Marco, nor did he know that the lad and 
his companions had left Calcutta that very morning. 

He muttered an angry curse as he quickened his pace. 
The locality was not a safe one at this time of night. 

To his left were gloomy, deserted factories and ware- 
houses, with here and there a dimly-burning lamp post. 
A few feet to the right flowed the river, streaked, in mid- 
stream, with rows of anchored vessels. 

Straight ahead, less than a quarter of a mile away, 
were the docks, marked against the sky by a tangle of 
masts and shipping. 

Suddenly a man hove staggeringly out of the gloom, 
and pulled up in front of Falconer. His age was about 
fifty, and his nautical dress proclaimed him a sailor. 
There was light enough to reveal his brutal and bloated 
face. 

^‘Ho, stranger,” he cried, in a thick, unsteady voice, 
‘TVe lost my bearin’s. Kin you tell me where to find 
the Mary Ann? She’s at government dock number ten.” 

Falconer leaned forward and scrutinized the man 
keenly. 

^'Jove!” he exclaimed. “Captain Jarrow!” 

“That’s me,” cried the sailor. “But who in tarnation 
— by the stars and stripes if it ain’t John Hawk ” 

“Shut up!” interrupted Falconer, fiercely, “not that 
name here. When did you arrive at Calcutta?” 

“I’d better ask that of you,” sullenly returned Jar- 
rov/. “I’ve been in port two days. I’m dead broke, too. 
These cursed yellow niggers robbed me of three hundred 
dollars to-night,” 


Birds of a Feather. 


156 

“Serves you right, you drunken fool. Look here, Jar- 
row, Fve got a crow to pick with you. You’re a dastardly 
liar. Why didn’t you keep me posted about the lad, as 
you swore to do?” 

“Easy now/’ warned the sailor; “I’m not in a humor 
for hard words.” 

“But I am,” cried Falconer. “You’ve put me in a devil 
of a hole. After Stapleford died, the lad found new 
friends, and now ” 

“Hang the lad!” interrupted Jarrow. “I did as I 
promised to do — more than your dirty money’s worth. 
See here, my fine gentleman, I want five hundred dollars 
right now. Fork over, quick!” 

Falconer’s face blazed with anger. He took a step for- 
ward. 

“You scoundrel,” he roared. “I warn you not to try 
your blackmail game on me. I’ve given you too much 
money already. Not another penny will you get.” 

“Won’t I?” sneered the enraged sailor. “I’ll stake the 
Mary Ann that I do. It’s a thousand that I want — not 
five hundred. Unless you fork over I’ll lift anchor at 
daybreak and sail for New York. Once there. I’ll soon 
find the lad’s friends, and then ” 

“Shut up !” whispered Falconer. “You fool, don’t you 
see there’s some one listening?” 

Falconer was right. He had that moment discovered a 
figure leaning against a post within ten feet of the spot — 
a shaven-faced native attired in turban and white linen. 
No doubt the fellow had heard every word of the alter- 
cation. 


Birds of a Feather. 


157 


Jarrow was too intoxicated to be prudent. 

*^One of those dirty yellow niggers,” he muttered, 
after a hasty glance. '‘Quick, the money,” he added, 
loudlv and angrily. "Fork over, or I swear Fll blow 
on you, John Hawk ” 

Smack! Falconer, roused to desperation, had struck 
the sailor a staggering fist blow on the face. 

Jarrow reeled — then straightened up. With a fearful 
cry, he whipped a revolver from his pocket, aimed and 
fired. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A SURPRISE IN THE JUNGLE. 

Ten to one an intoxicated man will aim too high when 
shooting. Jarrow did this, and the bullet whistled over 
Falconer’s head. The latter made a rush for his assail- 
ant, but tripped on a cobblestone and fell full length. 

Meanwhile, the sailor had reeled backward a few feet 
to the edge of the river. He was insane with rage and 
liquor. He cocked the pistol, and took a deadly aim at 
Falconer’s prostrate form. 

This shot would have proved fatal, but for the prompt 
intervention of the native who was leaning against the 
post. 

Barely in time, he threw himself in front of the sailor. 
There was the quick flash of steel, and the report of a 
pistol exploding on the ground. 

Then, with a gurgling cry. Captain Jarrow splashed 
heavily over the raised embankment of the river and dis- 
appeared. 

Falconer had seen it all. He slowly rose to his feet, 
trembling in every limb. He glanced at the blood-stained 
knife which the native held in his hand. 

“Assassin !” he exclaimed, hoarsely. 

“Is this your gratitude, sahib?” was the calm reply. “I 
saved your life. There was no time to spare. But for 
me you would be lying there with a bullet in your head.’^ 


159 


A Surprise in the Jungle. 

“True,’’ said Falconer, with an effort. “Pardon me; I 
owe you my life. And yet — and yet bloodshed might 
have been averted.” 

He walked to the edge of the river and stared down. 
Scarcely a ripple was on the smooth, unbroken surface. 
He shuddered violently as he turned away. 

The native picked up the sailor’s revolver. He threw 
it far out in the stream, and cast the knife after it. 

From a distance, the bustle of the city came faintly. 
No one seemed to have heard the two shots. 

Falconer wiped cold drops of perspiration from his 
forehead as he glanced keenly at his strange companion. 

“This is a bad business,” he said, “but it won’t do any 
good to talk about it. I am not ungrateful for your aid. 
If you will accompany me, I will see that you are suit- 
ably rewarded.” 

“I desire no reward, sahib,” replied the native, in a 
scornful tone. “It may be, perhaps, that I can aid you 
in yet another way. That I overheard your conversation 
was no fault of mine. I was interested because it con- 
cerned an acquaintance — a lad named Marco, who for- 
merly lived with a wild animal dealer of Calcutta.” 

Falconer turned pale. 

“How — how much do you know?” he demanded, in a 
frightened tone. 

The man laughed softly. 

“Nothing, sahib, as far as relates to you,” he replied. 
“Except that you are interested in the lad. I saw you 
lurking about Carl Richter’s warehouse at twilight. But 
the boy is not there. He left the city this morning.” 


i6o A Surprise in the Jungle. 

The last words came with a hissing sound that denoted 
suppressed rage. 

“Where has he gone?” asked Falconer, who felt com- 
pelled to speak in spite of the growing realization of his 
peril. 

“Far north — to the province of Assam,” replied the na- 
tive. “He returns speedily, and then sails for New 
York.” 

“For New York?” gasped Falconer, and his face 
blanched with sudden terror. 

“He intends to go there,” whispered the native, softly. 
“But who knows? He may never return from the jun- 
gles of Assam.” 

A light broke on Falconer’s mind as he noticed the fel- 
low’s bitter and vengeful expression. He noticed sev- 
eral other things at the same instant. Then, like a flash, 
he felt convinced that he had made a thrilling discovery. 

“I think I catch your meaning,” he replied. “See here, 
my friend, I want to tell you something. In the first 
place I am a man of the world. I have traveled exten- 
sively. I have lived for three months in Portugal — in 
Lisbon. In the second place, I have read the Calcutta 
papers of the past ten days.” 

He paused, and looked straight at the man, who re- 
turned the glance with an unmoved countenance. 

“I am satisfied,” resumed Falconer, “that you are a 
Portuguese disguised as a Hindoo. I can’t mistake the 
features and the accent. I am satisfied, also, that you 
hate this lad Marco. These two things are easily ex- 
plained — if you are Senor Garcia.” 


A Surprise in the Jungle. i6i 

The man stepped back a pace or two. There was a 
mocking light in his eyes, but no trace of fear or anger. 

“Suppose I admit it?” he replied, boldly. “I am not 
afraid of you. If I have a secret, you have one also.” 

Then, in a bitter tone, he added : 

“I am a poor man, senor. I have lost my all. I need 
money badly, in order to escape from this accursed coun- 
try. If this lad stands in your way ” 

“Hush !” interrupted Falconer, savagely. “This is no 
place to talk. We have lingered here too long for our 
own safety. Elsewhere I may have something to say that 
will prove to the advantage of both of us. I can trust 
you?” 

“Yes, I swear it,” replied the disguised Portuguese. 

Side by side they hastened aw^ay from the blood-stained 
spot, and the darkness, which is ever ready to cloak evil, 
quickly swallowed them up. 

sfs * :f: ^ * 

Nearly two months had gone by since the foul murder 
of Captain Jarrow on the bank of the Hooghly. His 
body was not found. In fact, the papers merely recorded 
him as missing, and after a vain search of more than 
three weeks, the ship Mary Ann lifted anchor and sailed 
away under the command of the first mate. 

It was morning in the jungles of Assam. The sun 
was just beginning to break through the matted foliage. 
The creaking of wheels and the murmur of men’s voices 
mingled with the chattering of monkeys and parrots. 

But early as was the hour, the camp of the animal trap- 


A Surprise in the Jungle. 


362 

pers presented a dilapidated and ruined appearance. 
Canvas, tent poles and various other luggage lay scat- 
tered about. 

The expedition had been a complete success. Even 
more than the required number and variety of wild beasts 
had been secured. 

Matlock and his companions were in high spirits. 
Within forty-eight hours they expected to be traveling in 
their barge down the mighty Bramahputra. 

On the preceding day seven cages had been taken down 
to Goalpara. Seven more, hitched to spans of bullocks, 
were now ready to start. 

One by one they wheeled into the rugged jungle road, 
the native drivers running alongside, goad in hand. 
Amid creaking and shouting they vanished from sight. 

With the last three cages went Hofstein and Matlock. 
The latter lingered a moment to give Marco some in- 
structions, 

“You’ll be ready to start in half an hour,” he said. 
“Don’t lose the road, lad. You’ll likely overtake us be- 
fore long, for these heavy cages move but slowly.” 

Matlock’s departure left only Marco and Gooloo Singh 
at the camp. Their duty was to pile the luggage into a 
cart, and follow after their companions as quickly as pos- 
sible. The vehicle was a rude concern, with solid wheels 
of wood. Two fat bullocks were harnessed to the shaft. 

The Hindoo and his companion worked with busy fin- 
gers. They were glad to leave the camp, though their 
stay had been, on the whole, a pleasant one. There v;ere 
no disasters or losses to look back upon. 


A Surprise in the Jungle. 163 

Both thought of the future with happy anticipations. 
Marco, because he was going to America ; Gooloo Singh, 
because he was to accompany the lad to that far-distant 
land. The Hindoo’s devotion was like that of a faithful 
dog. 

In slightly more than half an hour the work was done. 
Where the busy camp had been, was a circle of trampled 
grass and the ashes of fires. 

The two climbed upon the fore end of the cart, and 
Gooloo Singh pricked the oxen with a long goad. 

The sturdy animals lumbered into the narrow path, and 
the camp slowly faded from view. For a mile the way 
led through heavy jungle, and then ascended the sloping 
side of a steep hill. 

On the summit Marco halted the bullocks for a brief 
rest. 

But for a haziness in the atmosphere, Goalpara could 
have been seen, nine miles away. The great mountains 
on the farther side of the Bramahputra were distinctly 
visible, their tall peaks gleaming in the sun. 

The Hindoo applied the goad, and the cart rumbled on 
down the hill. It reached the base, and crept into a jun- 
gle where the gloom was like that of eventide. Scattered 
rocks and serried walls of foliage rose from both sides of 
the path. 

“I never saw a more gloomy place,” said Marco. “I 
wish we were out of it. It gives me the shivers — and yet 
I don’t know why.” 

‘There is nothing to fear, sahib,” replied the Hindoo, 
“unless a prowling tiger. The Nagas, who inhabit the 


164 A Surprise in the Jungle. 

hills to the south, have been peaceful since a British force 
burned their villages four years ago. Formerly they 
made many raids, and ” 

The sentence was cut suddenly short by the appear- 
ance of half a score of powerful, half-naked savages, who 
rose up, as if by magic, on both sides of the path. 

They were armed only with clubs and spears, and their 
attack was as swift and silent as their approach. 

The cart was grabbed and upset before its occupants 
could seize their rifles. The bullocks broke loose from the 
shaft, and fled madly. A club stretched Gooloo Singh 
senseless on the disheveled luggage, and Marco found 
himself in the iron grasp of three pairs of brawny hands. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE BRIDGE OF VINES. 

The Nagas — for to these wild people did the attack- 
ing party belong — took particular pains to make no noise. 
With the exception of a guttural word or two, not a sound 
passed their lips. 

Marco struggled desperately to escape, and managed 
to utter one loud shout. Then he was choked so violently 
that he partially lost consciousness. 

When next he knew anything, the road and the luggage 
had disappeared, and he was being hurried rapidly 
through a dense jungle. Two burly savages held him up, 
one on each side. The others marched in front and 
behind. 

There was no trace of a path. Captors and captive 
wound through the tangled vegetation with the sinuous 
and noiseless ease of a serpent. 

The leader of the party was a gigantic fellow, wearing 
leopard skins and a necklet of tigers’ teeth. Seeing that 
Marco had recovered from his stupor, he wheeled around 
and intimated by gestures that he would kill the lad if he 
made the least noise. 

Marco wisely concluded to keep his mouth shut. He 
feigned weakness as much as possible, in order to delay 
the savages, though he had little hope of being rescued. 


i66 


The Bridge of Vines. 


He knew that the nearest cages must have been a mile or 
more ahead at the time of the attack. 

His thoughts were bitterly sad as he went deeper and 
deeper into the jungle. He believed Gooloo Singh to be 
dead, and his heart ached for the faithful Hindoo. 

He was at a loss to know why he had been carried off, 
but he finally concluded that it was for the purpose of 
ransom. Had he been better acquainted with the Nagas, 
he would have recognized the folly of such a theory. 

For more than an hour the savages went unswervingly 
ahead. Marco, in spite of his limpness, was dragged 
along with ease. 

Then they halted on the brink of a wooded ravine, fifty 
feet wide and about the same number in depth. Both 
banks dropped sheerly down, and they were connected by 
a shaky bridge of thick lianas, or vines, which were 
fastened to trees on either sides. 

A dozen of these cablelike strands, knotted together, 
formed the footway. A little higher up were two others 
for hand-rests. 

Marco was among the first to cross. The dizzy struc- 
ture swayed fearfully, and he narrowly missed plunging 
into the torrent that swirled through the bottom of the 
gorge. 

All made the passage in safety, however, and then the 
Nagas hacked away the main cable, letting it drop into 
the ravine. They did not disturb the hand-rests. 

Now Marco was less closely guarded. His captors 
proceeded more leisurely through the jungle. When they 


The Bridge of Vines. 167 

were possibly a quarter of a mile from the severed bridge 
they halted by a tall rock. 

Apparently they were to meet some one here. The 
leader placed his hand to his mouth, and gave a peculiar 
cry. He repeated it twice. 

Meanwhile Marco’s two guards had placed him against 
a tree. With half-closed eyes he sat limply, still feigning 
weakness. 

But his brain was active. He watched and waited, de- 
termined to carry out a desperate resolve if the chance 
came. 

A minute slipped by. Then the chance did come. The 
leader’s call was responded to from a distance. A noise 
was faintly heard amid the jungle, and the Nagas, to a 
man, turned their eyes in the direction of the sound. 

Marco was curious to know who was coming, but he 
could not afford to wait. Quick as a flash, he sprang to 
his feet, and plunged into the undergrowth in the direc- 
tion of the ravine. 

He ran blindly and swiftly, spurred on by the wild cries 
that were now ringing behind him. 

Remembering the broken bridge, he steered a diagonal 
course to the left. He hoped to strike the ravine at a 
place where the bank was less precipitous. The very fact 
that a bridge existed might have told him his expectation 
was vain. 

He covered the quarter-of-a-mile stretch with an actual 
gain to his credit. This was due to the fact that the 
savages had to follow his trail. He heard them yelling to 
one another. 


i68 


The Bridge of Vines. 

A few yards more and he staggered out on the brink 
of the gorge. A glance showed him a sheer-dropping 
precipice to right and left as far as the eye could reach. 

There was no time to lose. One chance was left him 
— and that a frightfully desperate one. He resolved to 
take it, and, turning to the right, he dashed up to the 
brink of the ravine, still cloaked by the heavy under- 
growth. 

When he reached the bridge, the jungle behind him was 
alive with savage yells. For an instant he felt faint and 
sick. Then the weakness passed, and left him strong and 
cool-headed. 

He chose the thickest of the two cables, and, taking a 
firm hold of it, he let himself swing into space. Hand 
over hand he worked along, not daring to look down. 
The sullen voice of the torrent thundered in his ears. 

When he was less than half-way across, he heard an 
outcry, and, looking back, he was horrified to see half-a- 
dozen of the Nagas on the spot he had just left. 

Whirr ! came a spear ! Another and another ! But the 
violent oscillation of the vines saved Marco, and not a 
weapon touched him. 

On he went, foot by foot, until a greater peril sent a 
throb of despair to his heart. With spears and clubs, the 
Nagas attacked the two cables where they were coiled 
about the tree. 

Snap! the frailer one parted, and whizzed by Marco’s 
face. A burst of savage cries rang out. 

The lad gave himself up for lost. Still he pluckily 


The Bridge of Vines. 169 

toiled on. Now he was only a dozen feet from the op- 
posite side. Would he reach it? He heard the hacking 
of the spears and clubs. 

His head swam as he moved his aching arms another 
foot. He looked back, and just at that instant there was 
the sharp, angry crack of rifles from close by. One of 
the Nagas toppled head first into the gorge. Another fell 
among his companions, squirming in the agonies of 
death. 

'‘Come on, lad,’’ cried a hearty voice. “You’re all 
right.” 

Marco glanced joyfully toward the near bank of the 
ravine. There stood Matlock, Hofstein, and three or 
four natives. 

Crack ! crack ! went the rifles, but Marco did not look 
to see what effect they were having. He strained every 
nerve to reach his friends. 

Then there was a creaking and quivering of the cable. 
The lad instinctively divined what was coming. He 
gritted his teeth, and held fast like grim death. 

He was barely ready when the weakened strand parted, 
and he felt himself plunge down and across the yawning 
chasm. It seemed a long interval — though it was really 
scarcely a second — until he bumped violently against-— 
not the hard and cruel rock, but a clump of bushes that 
grew on the face of the cliff, ten feet from the brink. 

There Marco swung, rather faint and dizzy, but other- 
wise uninjured. He felt spears strike to right and left 
of him. He heard hoarse yells, and the crack of rifles. . 

Then he clung tighter to the cable, as he felt himself 


170 


The Bridge of Vines. 


drawn upward — up and up, until eager hands pulled him 
out on firm ground. 

The reaction left him weak and faint for a moment, 
but it soon passed off. He looked gratefully at Matlock 
and Hofstein, and then turned his eyes across the ravine. 
The Nagas had disappeared, leaving two dead behind. 

^‘You had a narrow escape, lad,” said Hofstein. ‘‘We 
arrived in the nick of time — on the ragged edge, as it 
were. How do 3^011 feel?” 

“A little trembly,” replied Marco. “Til soon be all 
right. But how about Gooloo Singh? Is — is he dead?” 

“Not a bit of it. He got an ugly rap on the skull, but, 
barrin’ a headache for a couple of da3^s, he won’t be any 
the worse. He wanted to hobble along with us, but we 
made him stay at the road.” 

“It was by sheer luck that we got here in time to save 
you,” chimed in Matlock. “Bad luck we were inclined 
to call it when the rear cage broke down, owing to a de- 
fective axle. Conrad and these trusty fellows came back 
to help me, and we had barely got started when your 
span of bullocks came tearing along like mad. I jumped 
out and caught them, and then ” 

“Then we hurried up the road,” broke in Hofstein, 
“and found the cart upset, you missing, and Gooloo Singh 
just coming to his senses. The shikarees nosed out the 
trail of the savages, and away we went like a pack of 
hounds.” 

“It was a fortunate break-down,” said Marco, with a 
shuddering glance at the gorge. “Come on. I’m ready to 
start now.” 


The Bridge of Vines. 171 

A moment later the little party were retracing their 
steps through the tangled jungle. They reached the road 
in an hour, and the meeting between Marco and Gooloo 
Singh was a joyous and affecting one. 

The bullocks had been brought to the spot by one of 
the servants, and the cart was speedily righted and re- 
filled. It was driven a quarter of a mile ahead to the 
broken cage, and, after a brief delay here, the proces- 
sion pushed on. 

Matlock wisely made three armed natives march at the 
rear, and he himself mounted the cart with Marco and 
the Hindoo. 

The lad’s strange abduction was discussed from every 
conceivable standpoint, but without reaching a satisfac- 
tory solution. 

^T give it up,” said Matlock, finally. ^Tt’s a queer go. 
It’s not like the Nagas to carry any one off for ransom. 
They always kill. If this had happened in any other 
part of the country, lad, I would say there was an enemy 
back of it. But here, three hundred miles from Cal- 
cutta ” 

Matlock ended in a low whistle, and then looked sober 
for a moment. 

‘T’m sorry I didn’t see who was coming through the 
jungle at the time I escaped,” Marco remarked. 

‘‘Yes, it’s a pity,” Matlock answered. “Got a match 
about, lad? I want to light my pipe.” 

After that the conversation took a different turn. Late 
in the afternoon Goalpara was reached, and the cages 
were carefully stored with the other seven in an empty 


172 


The Bridge of Vines. 


tea-shed, which had been rented for the purpose. After 
such a tiresome march no one was inclined for more 
work that day. 

In the evening, shortly before sunset, Matlock and 
Marco were standing on a wharf along the river. The 
barge was moored close by, with the name, Assam Tiger, 
painted on her stern. 

At a little distance was an interested group of natives, 
planters, and English soldiers. 

One of the former approached Matlock, and made a 
low, cringing bow. His attire was half-native, half- 
European. He wore cast-off cavalry trousers, a greasy 
cummerbund and blouse of blue cloth, and a dingy turban. 
His coppery face was covered with a matted growth of 
coarse black hair. 

^‘Salaam, sahib,” he began. “You are going down the 
river in yonder boat?” 

“Yes, what of it?” said Matlock. 

“I am at the sahib’s service,” replied the fellow, “to be 
hired cheap. I am a skilled pilot. I know the river clear 
to the sea.” 

Matlock reflected. 

“The boatmen that I have engaged tell me the same 
thing,” he said, “but I hardly know whether to believe 
the rascals. You say you are a skilled pilot? What is your 
name, and how often have you been down the Bramah- 
putra?” 

“More times than I can count, sahib,” replied the fel- 
low, holding up both hands; “on budgerows, dhingees, 
steamers and tea barges. T am called Gunga Ra.” 


The Bridge of Vines. 


173 


‘'Well, ril take you,^' decided Matlock. “Be here early 
in the morning to help load. “111 pay you a rupee a 
day. Is that enough?” 

“The sahib is generous,” replied Gunga Ra. He made 
a low bow, and took himself off. 

“A rascally-looking fellow,” was Marco's comment. 

“His looks don’t matter if he proves a good pilot,” re- 
plied Matlock, “and I fancy he will.” 


I 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


GUNGA RA MAKES A SUGGESTION. 

At daybreak the loading of the barge began. Gunga 
Ra made his appearance, and worked with a zest that 
placed him high in Matlock’s estimation. By noon 
everything was on board — cages, bullocks, luggage, and 
supplies for men and beasts. 

Matlock paid off and dismissed some of his helpers, 
and settled accounts with the native merchants to whom 
he was indebted. 

Mid-afternoon saw the Assam Tiger drifting down 
the river, while the thatched dwellings and white-walled 
cantonments of Goalpara faded slowly in the distance. 

The barge looked lower than it really was, on account 
of its breadth and length. Its general outlines resembled 
the ferryboats that ply on the Hudson and East rivers at 
New York. 

In the center of the deck were the movable hatches 
that covered the hold, where the animals and cattle were 
quartered. From the foredeck rose a square and airy 
little cabin, occupied by Marco, Gooloo Singh and their 
employers. 

Close by a ladder led down to the storeroom. Here, 
among other supplies, were cases of ammunition, and a 
fifty-pound keg of powder. The latter had been brought 


Gunga Ra Makes a Suggestion. 175 

up from Calcutta for bartering purposes with the natives, 
but proved not to be needed. 

The greater part of the deck was roofed over with 
sheets of rice-matting. On one side of the hatches were 
the sleeping quarters of the crew. The other side was 
fitted for cooking and eating. 

The barge was guided from the stern by two great 
sweeps, like the oar-blades of a raft. 

Two men were needed to each sweep, and there were 
two relays — eight men in all. 

The cook, the pilot, and six helpers whom Matlock had 
retained to look after the animals, swelled the number of 
natives on board to sixteen, exclusive of Gooloo Singh. 

Across mid-deck, above hatches and awnings, was a 
sort of bridge. Here sat Gunga Ra, with his water-bowl 
beside him. He commanded a clear view of the river 
ahead, and could, at the same time, give instructions to 
the men at the sweeps by word and signal. 

The current of the Bramahpiitra was rather sluggish, 
and even at this distance from the sea the channel was 
from one to two miles broad. 

There were no snags or shoals, and this fact made 
Matlock wonder if a pilot was really a necessity. Gunga 
Ra had little or nothing to do, though he showed his au- 
thority by giving an occasional order to the crew. 

Through the sultry hours of the afternoon the Assam 
Tiger swung leisurely down the murky water way, keep- 
ing well in mid-stream. To right and left were jungle- 
covered banks, the haunts of innumerable wild beasts. 


176 Gunga Ra Makes a Suggestion. 

Here and there on a cleared hillside glistened the 
bungalow and factories of a tea or indigo planter. 

To the north the blue spurs of the Himalayas could be 
faintly seen, sixty miles away. 

A few craft of various kinds were encountered — native 
traders’ boats, a steam launch flying the French flag, a 
passenger barge bound for Goalpara, and a troop steamer 
crowded to the rail with helmeted British soldiers. 

At sunset the barge was guided to the left bank of the 
river, and moored to trees, for Matlock was not inclined 
to run the risk of navigating in the dark. 

Guards were stationed on different parts of the deck, 
and the night passed without alarm. One little incident 
occurred to which a special significance afterward at- 
tached. 

About three o’clock in the morning, while lying half- 
asleep and half-awake in his bunk, Marco fancied that 
he heard the ladder creaking which led down to the store- 
room. 

He rose, and looked out of the cabin. Seeing no per- 
son but one of the sentries, he went back to bed. 

In the morning he spoke of the affair to Matlock. The 
latter, on descending to the storeroom, found evidence of 
a box of biscuits having been tampered with. 

'Tt must have been the sentry,” he said. “No doubt 
the poor fellow got hungry in the night. I won’t say 
anything about it unless it happens again.” 

Marco was of the same opinion, and gave the matter no 
further thought. 

The second day’s journey was uneventful. The Assam 


Gunga Ra Makes a Suggestion. 177 

Tiger slipped along for mile after mile, under the burn- 
ing Indian sun. 

At frequent intervals Marco, while walking from bow 
to stern, or vice versa, looked up at the bridge, to find 
Gunga Ra’s piercing black eyes fixed upon him with 
what he imagined to be a fierce and malevolent stare. 
Each time the Hindoo turned quickly away. 

The lad could not shake off the delusion, though he 
was convinced that it was nothing else. It caused him a 
vague feeling of uneasiness. 

Others on board, unknown to themselves, were 
favored with that same malevolent stare — notably Mat- 
lock and Gooloo Singh. 

Meanwhile the Hindoo pilot had fallen under suspicion 
with the men at the sweeps. They regarded his post as 
a mere sinecure^ and found fault with his Hindustani. 
They agreed among themselves that he was not what he 
professed to be — that his knowledge of the river was 
next to nothing. 

No whisper of this reached Matlock or his companions, 
else the course of events might have been decidedly 
changed. 

Noon came and passed, and the sun dropped slowly to- 
ward the west. An hour before twilight Gunga Ra 
hopped nimbly down from the bridge, and came forward 
to where Matlock was sitting with Marco and Hofstein. 

^Tf the sahib wishes,"’ he said, making a low bow, *‘the 
barge can float through the night with safety. Ranga- 
mati is seventeen miles away, and between here and there 


178 Guuga Ra Makes a Suggestion. 


the channel is known to be free from obstructions and 
shoals.” 

Matlock first shook his head. 

''No,” he replied, "we will tie up.” 

"I am the sahib’s servant,” persisted Gunga Ra, "but 
we will surely gain much time. I am accustomed to go 
long without sleep. I will watch from the bridge until 
daylight.” 

Matlock hesitated. Any device that would shorten the 
journey was worth considering. 

"It sounds fair,” said Hofstein. "There can’t be any 
damage if we keep to mid-channel. Of course, I don’t 
advise it as a regular thing. But if the stretch from here 
to Rangamati is known to be safe ” 

"It is,” broke in Marco. "Don’t you remember, when 
we came up in the steamer, what the captain told us? 
He said the first twenty miles were safe running by day 
or night.” 

"Ah, I forgot that,” exclaimed Matlock. "Well, we’ll 
risk it. Go back to your post, my good fellow. I’ll see 
that you get an extra rupee for your loss of sleep.” 

A moment later Gunga Ra was perched on the bridge 
peering ahead. When black night shrouded the river 
lighted lanterns were hung at bow and stern, and the sec- 
ond relay of men went to the sweeps. 

While the barge glided down mid-channel between the 
faintly visible shores, supper was eaten, and pipes were 
smoked, and the bullocks and wild beasts were made snug 
for the night. 

At midnight all were asleep except those on whom de- 


179 


Gunga Ra Makes a Suggestion. 

volved the safe guidance of the Assam Tiger. No sound 
was heard but the regular splash and creak of the oar- 
blades as the men shuffled their naked feet to and fro over 
the rear-deck. Blind obedience to the instructions of the 
pilot was imperative, for the glare of the lanterns pre- 
vented their seeing further than the rail. 

Gunga Ra, perched aloft, had the barge at his mercy. 
He alone knew whither it was drifting. From time to 
time a curt word of command dropped from his lips. 

An hour slipped by. Shortly after one o’clock there 
came a tremendous crash — a grinding, quivering jar that 
sent a shudder through the stout framework of the Assam 
Tiger, and pitched the occupants of the cabins out of their 
bunks and sprawled them in a tangled heap on the floor. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE WORK OF A FIEND. 

Marco was the first to stagger to his feet, and dart out 
of the cabin. He was followed by his faithful shadow, 
Gooloo Singh. 

They stood on deck for a moment, too dazed and 
startled to comprehend what had happened. The for- 
ward lanterns had been extinguished, and all was dark- 
ness in that direction. 

But out of the shadows came yell after yell from 
human throats, and the frightened snarling and roaring 
of wild beasts. The commotion grew even louder. 

There seemed no cause for the fear and panic. There 
had been no repetition of that first crash. 

The barge was now perfectly level, and, if in motion 
at all, was drifting along serenely. 

“Perhaps we are sinking, sahib,” suggested the Hindoo. 

“I don’t know,” replied Marco, in sudden alarm. “It 
is possible. We had an awful collision with something 
or other.” 

Hof stein and Matlock just then reached the spot. 

“We’re not sinking, lad,” exclaimed the latter. “I’m 
sure of that. I know the feel of it too well, having been 
there before.” 

“Then the bow is fast, and we are swinging around 


The Work of a Fiend, 


i8i 


broadside,” replied Marco, as he shaded his eyes with his 
hands, and glanced over the rail. 

He had hardly spoken when the words were con- 
firmed. There was a grinding noise, followed by a 
quivering, jarring jerk. 

Then the barge held fast, and its only perceptible mo- 
tion was a gentle swaying to and fro. 

Matlock ran to the opposite side of the deck, and 
stared out on the water. He immediately uttered a cry 
that drew the others to his side. 

“We have swung clear around,” he shouted. “The 
barge is fast, with its bow pointing up stream. But that’s 
not the worst. Look here ! What do you make of that?” 

Now, for the first time, all eyes discovered the black 
outlines of the shore within fifty yards. Its reflection 
stained the waters almost as far as the side of the barge. 

“We’re aground on the shallows !” cried Hofstein. “Is 
this deviltry or accident?” 

“We must ask Gunga Ra,” replied Marco. “Either he 
ran us ashore purposely or he fell asleep at his post.” 

“I’ll soon find out when I get hold of the rascal,” 
growled Matlock. 

He cut loose one of the swinging lanterns, and started 
up the deck, followed by his companions. 

The panic had now almost subsided. Here and there 
a lantern flamed up from bow to stern, shedding light on 
the whole scene. The natives ran to and fro, chattering 
loudly, and an occasional roar came from the hold. 

Matlock glanced up at the bridge. It was empty ! He 
peered around in vain for the missing pilot. 


t 82 


The Work of a Fiend. 


^‘Where is Gunga Ra?” he demanded, angrily. 

There was a jabber of voices in reply. No one had 
seen him. 

The men who had been at the sweeps were hastily ex- 
amined, but they absolved themselves from blame. They 
had only obeyed orders, they said, and the glare of the 
lanterns had prevented them from seeing any distance 
beyond the rail. 

Their testimony elicited one important and damaging 
fact. Gunga Ra had not been asleep. Up to the very 
moment of the crash he had issued instructions. 

Matlock was furiously angry. 

“There is some deviltry afoot here!” he cried. “The 
barge was grounded by design. Search for the scoundrel. 
He must be on board. He can’t escape.” 

Just then a dusky and bleeding figure crawled pain- 
fully out of the dark hold. It was the shikaree, Jafar, 
who had been acting as nightwatch over the animals. 
He stood up with an apparent effort. His breath came 
in short, quick gasps. 

“Hullo! what’s wrong?” demanded Matlock. “Are 
you hurt ?” 

“Truly I am, sahib,” was the reply. “That pig of a 
pilot, Gunga Ra — when the bump came — ^he fell down — 
he fell down through the awning, and into the hold — ^he 
fell upon me with much heaviness. See — I am hurt here 
— and here.” 

He patted his ribs and his nose. 

Matlock grimly repressed an inclination to laugh. 


The Work of a Fiend. 183 

“Where is the rascal now?” he asked. “Did he climb 
upon deck?” 

“He rolled away in the darkness, sahib,” replied Jaffar, 
pointing to the hold. “He must be still concealed down 
there.” 

“Then weVe got him,” cried Hofstein. “Bring him up, 
men. I want to hear what he has to say about this 
affair.” 

“A word, sahib,” interrupted Jafar. “The cage with 
the rhinoceros is upset. The beast may break out unless 
something is done. Hark! he is pounding his horn 
against the planks.” 

“Jafar is right,” exclaimed Matlock. “Gunga Ra will 
keep for the present. The brute must be attended to. 
Come on I all hands are needed for this business.” 

A stout gate barred the entrance to the hold, which 
was a sloping plankway, seven feet wide, opening on one 
of the side-decks of the barge. 

Matlock swung the gate back on its hinges. Then, as 
a sudden thought occurred to him, he stopped. He 
rapidly singled out four of the natives, and ordered them 
to stand aside. 

“Put these fellows on guard around the hatches, lad,” 
he said to Marco. “They don't need any weapons. At 
the same time you had better stay up yourself. You see, 
this rascal of a pilot may slip out of the hold, or he may 
be already out, and lurking somewhere on deck. I don't 
want to lose him.” 

“All right, sir,” replied Marco. “I'll keep a sharp 
lookout.” 


184 


The Work of a Fiend. 


^'Lively now, men, ” exclaimed Matlock, and, swinging 
his lantern overhead, he led his party through the gate 
and down into the hold, where the ill-tempered rhinoceros 
was still jabbing and prodding. 

Gooloo Singh lingered a moment, wavering between 
duty and inclination. Then he reluctantly followed after 
the others. 

Marco lost no time in placing his four men where he 
thought they were most needed. He left the foredeck 
unguarded, since the hatch at this end of the hold was 
tightly fastened down. 

Under the circumstances, it was the proper thing to do, 
yet Marco was destined to shortly repent of it. 

“Now,” he said, to himself, “Fm going to search the 
whole deck for Mr. Gunga Ra. I have an idea that he 
climbed out of the hold long before Jafar.” 

But just as the lad started on his tour he had an im- 
pleasant recollection of the pilot’s evil glances. 

“I wouldn’t care to meet the fellow empty-handed,” he 
reflected. “I think I will arm myself.” 

He hurried forward to the cabin, and took down his 
rifle from the hooks — a light little weapon, to which he 
was much attached. 

But his cartridge belt was empty, and the shells of the 
required size were all in the storeroom. 

“I don’t want to lug one of those things around,” he 
muttered, glancing at the heavier rifles of his com- 
panions. “I can put my hand on the box in the dark, 
and it won’t take a minute.” 


The Work of a Fiend. 


i8s 

He went out on deck^ and stood for a second or two 
in the yellow glare of the lantern that was dangling over- 
head. From the hold came creaking, pounding noises, 
and the jabbering of voices. 

Then he stepped to the ladder, and went quickly down 
the rungs. When he was half-way down from the top, 
he fancied he saw a flash of yellow light below him. He 
rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The light had van- 
ished, and all was dark. 

Marco reached the bottom. The door opened inward, 
and he pushed it half-way back on its hinges. He felt 
a little uneasy about that visionary light, so he took a 
match from his pocket, and scraped it on the stock of 
his rifle as he strode boldly into the storeroom. 

The lad stood petrified by the sight that the blazing 
match revealed to him. Most of the cases and boxes 
had been moved from the center of the floor, and that 
space was now occupied by the fifty-pound keg of gun- 
powder. 

From the open bung-hole dangled a two-foot fuse, one 
end of which was charred and burnt. A couple of 
partly-consumed matches lay near, and not far away was 
a dark-lantern with the shade drawn. 

All this Marco saw in a fleeting glance, and before he 
could realize the stupendous import of it or dream of 
danger a pair of bony hands fastened on his throat from 
behind ! 

There was no chance to cry out — no chance for a 
struggle on equal terms. The rifle and match fell, and 


i86 


The Work of a Fiend. 


^larco went heavily down on top of them, thus plunging 
the storeroom in utter darkness. 

The fall brought the lad’s head severely in contact with 
the floor, and the stunning pain partly disabled him. He 
struggled weakly to tear the bony hands from his throat. 
In vain ! They only clutched him the tighter. 

Now he felt the agonies of suffocation. His brain 
seemed to be bursting apart. His senses were leaving 
him. 

Suddenly, when his strength was quite gone, the grip 
on his throat relaxed. He lay still, breathing in painful 
gasps, and unable to utter a sound. 

With impotent rage and fear, he felt his unseen enemy 
bind his ankles together, and fasten his wrists behind his 
back. He was conscious of the ruffian’s hot breath on 
his face. 

When it came to gagging him, Marco made a feeble 
resistance, but the wad of cloth was quickly stuffed into 
his mouth. 

Then the weight was lifted from him, and the lad lay 
there as helpless as a log of wood. He heard the store- 
room door close softly. He heard muffled footsteps over 
the floor, and a slight creaking noise. 

Next a glare of light shone on him from the unhooded 
lantern, and he met the evil stare of Gunga Ra. 

For an instant he scarcely knew the ruffian, so malig- 
nant and full of hatred was the distorted expression of 
his face. 

Marco shuddered with uncontrollable horror. The 
thought of his helplessness was maddening. 


The Work of a Fiend. 


187 


Gunga Ra approached the lad, and looked down on 
him as a tigress Vvould glare at the slayer of her cubs. 

“Ah!” he muttered. “I could have wished for no 
better fortune. You are already as good as dead, so I 
will unmask myself. Viable! How cleverly I deceived 
you all! What! You don’t know me yet? But how 
could you with this growth of beard — with these rags of 
a disguise? I am Sehor Garcia!” 

Marco started, and turned pale. He recognized the 
ruffian’s voice. A hopeless, terrified look shone in his 
eyes. 

“There is no time to lose,” resumed the Portuguese. 
“Fate has played the game into my hands. At one stroke 
I shall have a glorious revenge — not only on you, but on 
your dogs of companions ! You escaped me in the jungle 
the other day, but this time I am sure. No one will come 
to help you. You will lie here, and watch yonder fuse 
burn its way to the keg. When the spark reaches the 
powder the barge and all on board will be in fragments.’^ 

“By that time I shall be safe on shore. I made a mis- 
take to-night, and ran the barge aground before I 
intended to. But it is an easy matter to drop into the 
water. I am a good swimmer, and a good diver. Hark ! 
your companions are still busy in the hold.” 

With a truly satanic grin, Garcia scraped a match, and 
lit the end of the fuse. 

“I will leave the lantern so that you may measure your 
span of life,” he added. “I wish you happy thoughts 


The Work of a Fiend. 


i88 

during the next two minutes. Good-by, my young friend 
Marco.'’ 

The ruffian glanced briefly at the spitting fuse. Then 
he softly left the storeroom, closing the door behind him. 
The ladder creaked a couple of times, and all was still. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

TRUE HEROISM. 

Marco’s feelings were such as no tongue or pen can 
describe. His head seemed on fire with pent-up agony. 
He first strained every nerve and muscle to break his 
bonds — to spit the gag from his mouth. 

But he could accomplish nothing. He was even too 
weak to roll himself over the floor. He lay still in a 
fever of suffering, with his eyes fixed on the keg of 
powder and the speck of hissing, spitting fire that was 
creeping closer and closer. 

With incredible rapidity, one mental picture after an- 
other glided through his mind. He saw the guards stand- 
ing about the deck, indifferently ignorant of his where- 
abouts. He saw his companions working away in the 
hold. 

Then — frightful scene — he saw the barge fly to frag- 
ments with an awful crash, and strew the river with 
charred wood and mangled bodies. He saw Garcia’s evil 
face, lighted up with intense joy, peer from the shelter of 
the jungle. 

Again the lad tried desperately to loosen his arms. His 
efforts to eject the gag made him purple in the face. 

Now the fuse was half-consumed. The fire would 
soon be traveling up the side of the keg. 


True Heroism. 


190 

Suddenly Marco’s attention was distracted by a hoarse 
cry overhead. He heard a rush of footsteps over the 
deck. 

An instant later came more footsteps, and a babel of 
angry voices^ and the sharp crack of rifles. 

The lad knew what this meant. 

'‘Garcia has been discovered while leaping overboard,” 
he thought. “Oh, I hope they will shoot him — I hope 
they will !” 

The noise and the firing continued, but no one came 
near the storeroom. Marco’s brief hope died away. He 
looked at the spitting fuse, and the sight maddened him. 

Again and again he exerted his aching muscles, but it 
was useless to try to break the cords. Then he attacked 
the gag with tongue and teeth, and it suddenly flew out 
of his mouth. 

For an instant he was faint with joy. But when he 
tried to cry out he was horrified to find that he could 
utter only a wheezing sound. The racket still continued 
overhead, and he realized the hopelessness of making 
himself heard. 

Death was very near. The explosion could not be long 
delayed. Already the burning end of the fuse was an 
inch off the floor. The fire was steadily eating its way 
up the side of the keg to the open tap-hole. 

A few seconds went by — laden with frightful agony to 
the doomed lad. A quavering cry escaped his lips, and 
he shuddered from head to foot. 

Suddenly a last chance flashed into his mind. That 


True Heroism. 


191 

quickly he regained control of his nerves, and became 
calm and clear-headed. 

Summoning all his strength, he rolled himself over the 
floor. He had to tack twice before he gained the posi- 
tion that he wanted. Then his head rested against the 
keg, and the burning end of the fuse was just above him. 
The sparks dropped upon his face ! 

Would it be success or failure? 

He answered the question by an intense muscular effort 
that raised his head from the floor. 

He opened his mouth, and snapped at the spot of fire. 
He caught it, and closed his lips tightly, regardless of the 
burning pain. Then his head dropped back, and he lost 
consciousness. 

Marco knew nothing more until he found himself in 
his own bunk in the cabin, with friendly faces all around 
him. Gooloo Singh was rubbing his burnt lips and 
tongue with some healing ointment. 

“Lie still, my brave lad,’^ said Matlock. “You’re not 
able to get up.” 

“Yes, I am,” cried Marco, struggling to a sitting pos- 
ture. “Did I put it out ? Oh, how it burnt ! Where is 
the Portuguese ? Did you shoot him ?” 

He glared wildly around, but was soothed by a touch 
from Gooloo Singh. 

“His mind is wandering,” said Matlock, in an under- 
tone. “Yes, you put the fuse out,” he added. “It was a 
brave deed. We found you in the storeroom ten minutes 
ago, with the fuse still clinched between your teeth. Your 


192 True Heroism. 

lips and tongue were scorched a little, but the pain won*t 
last long.” 

“We all owe our lives to you, my brave lad,” chimed 
in Hofstein. “Your heroism saved the barge. I’m sorry 
Gunga Ra escaped. The guards saw him leap the rail, 
and gave the alarm. We fired at the rascal, but he dived 
like an otter. Jafar and four of the men went after him 
in the small boat.” 

“It — it was not Gunga Ra,” shouted Marco. “I mean, 
that was not his name. He was Senor Garcia disguised.” 

When the excitement caused by this statement had sub- 
sided a little, Marco went on with his story, telling it 
briefly and rapidly. 

The indignation and wonder of his hearers were be- 
yond description. Matlock grew purple with rage. For 
a moment speech was impossible. 

“I would give every cent I own to get my hands on the 
scoundrel,” he blurted out. “I would tear him limb from 
limb. To think that his disguise deceived me !” 

“He must be a tremendous hater,” said Hofstein, “to 
judge from the trouble he took, following the lad clear 
up here, and hiring the Nagas to carry him off. And 
then — when that failed — to get himself actually on board 
the barge ! He is a fiend in human shape !” 

Gooloo Singh said nothing, but the snap of his black 
eyes was more eloquent than words. 

At this point the dip of paddles was heard, and a mo- 
ment later the boat swung alongside the barge. The 
shikaree and his companions climbed on deck, dragging 
the light craft after them. 


True Heroism. 


193 


“No luck, eh ?” growled Matlock. 

“None, sahib,” replied Jafar. “The man is safe within 
the thick jungle, where there is scarce a trail even for 
beasts.” 

“We’re well rid of him !” exclaimed Hofstein. “I don’t 
think he’ll trouble us again in a hurry. He will prob- 
ably cut for Rangamati, and leave this part of the country 
by rail.” 

“Very likely,” replied Matlock. “I only hope that he’ll 
cross our path again before we leave India. And now 
for getting the barge loose. There’s only one way, I 
fear — to fly a distress signal, and wait till some steamer 
comes along.” 

“We’ll likely wait till daylight,” said Hofstein. “It’s 
only two o’clock now. Suppose we turn in for a few 
hours’ sleep ?” 

“You forget the rhinoceros, sahib,” interposed Gooloo 
Singh. “We left the hold in great haste.” 

“By Jove! that’s so!” cried Matlock. “We got the 
cage up all right, but it is too much strained for safety. 
It must be strengthened at once.” 

“Better lose no time,” warned Hofstein. “I hear the 
brute prodding at the planks. He has been in the very 
devil of a humor for the past two days.” 

“Come on, then,” replied Matlock, picking up the lan- 
tern. “Jafar, slip down to the rear deck, and bring me 
some of that teakwood planking.” 

The shikaree had gone but a dozen steps on the errand 
when a ripping, crashing noise broke out in the hold, 
mingled with angry grunts. 


194 


True Heroism. 


“There !” cried Matlock. “Old Ugly is loose. Get the 
nets and ropes, quick!’’ 

Old Ugly was the name bestowed upon the brute at the 
time of his capture, and he now showed himself fully 
worthy of it. 

Scarcely ten seconds after the first there came a second 
crashing, rending noise. Then followed a babel of angry 
snorts and shrill, blood-curdling yells. 

The commotion rose to a high pitch, and now all the 
beasts and bullocks joined in. 

There was a hasty running to and fro on the fore- 
deck, as Matlock issued order after order. Marco forgot 
his burns, and jumped out of bed. 

“Lively, men!” cried Hofstein. “Old Ugly is playing 
the old Harry with the other cages. Don’t do any killing 
unless it’s necessary.” 

It was comical to see the scramble for guns, netting 
and ropes — most of which supplies had been conveniently 
stacked in the cabin. 

There were no cowards on board, and every man was at 
Matlock’s heels when he led the way forward. In truth, 
they might well have quailed at the awful sounds now 
echoing from below. 

Matlock was in front, with two shikarees, bearing a 
great net. Just as the party came within three feet of 
the entrance to the hold, two spotted tiger-cats, with 
eyes aflame, leaped out of the black space, screeching 
hideously. 

“Look out !” warned Matlock. 

The shikarees flung the net, but it fell short of the 


True Heroism. 


195 

little animals. They turned tail, and fled toward the rear- 
deck. 

Before the storming party could recover from the tem- 
porary confusion, Old Ugly came snorting and pounding 
up the plankway leading from the hold. He struck the 
closed gate like a stone from a catapult, and shivered it to 
fragments. 

The clumsy brute narrowly missed striking the rail and 
plunging into the river. He instantly wheeled about, and 
charged full tilt at the men ! 

No one delayed to test rope or net. With shrill cries, 
all speed back to the foredeck, closely pursued by the evil- 
tempered brute. 

Marco rushed blindly into the cabin, followed by Goo- 
loo Singh and Hof stein. Matlock and the shikarees 
tumbled down the ladder to the storeroom, while the rest * 
of the party wheeled around, and fled toward the rear- 
deck. 

Old Ugly naturally followed the bent of his lowered 
horn, and that led him straight to the side wall of the 
cabin. 

Crash! head and shoulders went through the frail 
planking like an egg shell. The brute stuck fast for an 
instant. 

Then he wedged himself on, and squeezed clear into 
the cabin, just as Marco and his terrified companions 
bolted out by the door. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


A LIVELY SIEGE. 

“Run, sahibs!” cried Gooloo Singh. “We must seek 
safety on the rear-deck.” 

“Ho — hold on !” panted Hofstein, whose corpulent body 
was nearly out of breath. “Help me — or Pm — a goner 1” 

Marco and the Hindoo grabbed him, and then they ran 
along the side of the barge, thoroughly convinced, by the 
crashing noise in their rear, that Old Ugly was in hot 
pursuit. 

They discovered otherwise when they reached the rear- 
deck, where eight or ten of the natives were congregated. 

“The brute may be trapped in the cabin,” said Marco. 
“We had better go back and see.” 

“It sounds that way from the racket,” assented Hof- 
stein, doubtfully. “Hullo 1 where is Matlock ? I thought 
he came in this direction.” 

“No, sahib,” replied Gooloo Singh. “He and the shika- 


An angry screech drowned the Hindoo’s voice, and out 
from a dark corner of the deck popped the two tiger- 
cats. 

The little beasts were disposed for attack. They crept 
slowly toward the group of men, spitting and snarling. 

Gooloo Singh still had a net bundled up under his arm. 


A Lively Siege. 197 

He and Marco hastily unrolled it. They advanced a few 
steps, and made a quick cast. 

One of the animals escaped by wheeling about and 
leaping upon the rail ; then it sprang to one of the sweeps, 
and crawled down toward the water. 

The net descended squarely on the second tiger-cat. 
The beast squalled like a fury, and struggled so violently 
as to speedily entangle itself in the stout meshes. 

Among the sweep-men was a gigantic fellow, with 
muscles of iron. He made a sudden dart forward, and 
fastened both his hands on the scruff of the tiger-cat’s 
neck. He lifted the animal, net and all, carried it to the 
nearest hatch, and dropped it into the hold — a perform- 
ance that excited the admiration of all. 

Meanwhile the rest of the party were passing through 
an equally lively experience on the foredeck. 

When Matlock and the two shikarees ventured to crawl 
up the storeroom ladder they saw Old Ugly’s head peer- 
ing at them from the cabin doorway. 

“We’ve got the brute this time,” cried Matlock. “The 
rascal has trapped himself. Wait till I noose this rope 
and drop it over his neck. Then you and I will hold him 
fast, Jafar, while Jung slips in by the rear window and 
drops the net over him.” 

It was a very feasible plan, provided the sanction of the 
fourth party was obtained. At first the rhinoceros made 
no objections. He looked about him with his wicked 
little eyes, and grunted softly. He seemed quite pleased 
with his cozy quarters. 

But just as Matlock crept near, rope in hand. Old 


igS 


A Lively Siege. 


Ugly snorted with rage, and dashed forward. Crack! 
went the door timbers, and, in less time than it takes to 
tell, the brute was outside the cabin. 

Matlock hastily cast the rope, and missed. An agile 
spring to one side was all that saved his life. Then he 
ran to the covered hatch, which was close by, and leaped 
upon it. Jafar did the same. 

Jung fled clear around the cabin, hotly pursued by the 
vengeful brute, and on the second lap he managed to 
join his companions. 

Old Ugly was madder than ever. He butted the raised 
end of the hold a couple of times, and thus gave Mat- 
lock a chance to slip the noose on his neck. 

Then he backed away, dragging the end of the rope 
free before Matlock and the shikarees could get a good 
hold on it. 

After a turn or two he pricked up his ears, and pranced 
down the side-deck with the rope dangling about his 
hoofs. 

The brute’s advent on the rear of the barge was just 
a moment or two after the tiger-cat had been dropped 
into the hold. 

The group of sweep-men was made a target for Old 
Ugly’s charge. Five of them, in panic and desperation, 
crawled hastily out on the two great oar-blades — ^three 
on one and two on the other. 

Of course, the blades dipped deep, and the tiger-cat, 
at the first touch of the water, gained the rail by a flying 
leap over the men, and, dodging past the rhinoceros, raced 
up the deck. 


A Lively Siege. 


199 


This diversion gave Marco and his companions a 
chance. They turned the corner of the hold, and fled to 
the foredeck, with Old Ugly grunting after them. 

Hofstein climbed to the low roof of the x:abin, follov/ed 
by Marco and Gooloo Singh. The others clambered upon 
the hatch, thus crowding it to a very uncomfortable de- 
gree. 

Old Ugly arrived on the scene a second too late. 
Finding his enemies out of reach, he ambled leisurely to 
the rail, and peered inquisitively down at the rippling 
water. Possibly he was thirsty after his exertions. 

“This is a nice fix,” growled Matlock. “We’re in a 
regular state of siege.” 

“Don’t you think we had better shoot the brute before 
he does any more damage?” called out Hofstein, from 
the cabin roof. “We won’t have a better chance than 
now.” 

“Not a bit of it,” replied Matlock, emphatically. “That 
animal is too valuable to lose. Wait a little until his 
temper cools down. Then we’ll manage to get the nets 
over him.” 

“If we had another rope around his neck we could 
make a rush, and pull on him from two directions,” sug- 
gested Marco. “I have a rope here now.” 

“We’ll try it after a while,” replied Matlock. “Have 
patience.” 

A minute or two went by, and then Old Ugly turned 
away from the rail. He seemed to understand that he 
was master of the barge. His little eyes twinkled with 
malicious enjoyment. 


200 


A Lively Siege. 


Hearing a sound from the stern, he wheeled about, 
and trotted in that direction. The watchers on the hatch 
and cabin could follow his progress by the glow of the 
lanterns that were strung along the barge from end to 
end. 

They saw the sweep-men, who had by this time climbed 
back to the deck, hasten back to the shelter of the oar- 
blades, as the brute lunged at them. 

Old Ugly, now monarch of all he surveyed, shuffled 
leisurely forward again. He paused beside the cabin, 
and Marco hastily cast his rope. 

The brute provokingly turned his head in time to 
escape the noose. He then moved nearer the hatch, and 
the shikarees succeeded in flinging a net partly over him. 

This roused Old Ugly’s sleeping wrath. Shaking the 
net off, he trampled it under his sharp hoofs, and quickly 
rent it to shreds. 

At this luckless moment the tiger-cat came slinking 
around the corner of the cabin. The little beast was evi- 
dently badly scared by its strange quarters. It mewed 
in a low, quavering tone, and fixed its shiny eyes on the 
huddled group that occupied the hatch. 

There was a sudden rush — a chorus of grunts and 
squeals, and the tiger-cat lay lifeless on the deck. 

Not content with this. Old Ugly trampled the body, 
and mangled it horribly with his curved horn. The 
sight and smell of blood seemed to rouse him to a pitch 
of fury hitherto unattained. 

He glared around him, snorting shrilly. Then he 
charged full tilt at the hatch, and recoiled against the 


A Lively Siege. 


201 


tough timbers. This added to his wrath. He snorted, 
and wheeled his clumsy body about. 

With amazing swiftness, he shot straight at the cabin ! 
There was a splintering crash that made the structure 
reel, and down fell Marco, right upon Old Ugly’s hind 
quarters. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


OLD UGLY AND THE PANTHER. 

Almost before Marco rolled off the back of the rhinoc- 
eros to the deck his companions on hatch and cabin were 
shouting confused orders to him. More than one rifle 
was pointed at the brute, but no one pulled trigger. 

The lad sprang to his feet with a nimbleness that 
showed him to be uninjured. He turned and made for 
the hatch. Old Ugly turned as quickly, in a fine rage, 
and the brief race that followed was nip and tuck. 

The snorting of the beast magnified the danger to 
Marco’s ears. He leaped upon the hatch in such eager 
haste that he could not check himself. He stumbled over 
Jafar’s crouching figure, missed Matlock’s outstretched 
hand, and plunged head first into the yawning depths of 
the hold. 

There was a simultaneous cry of horror from all. Old 
Ugly stopped short, evidently not knowing what to make 
of it. But Marco had happily alighted upon a bale of 
grass-fodder. 

“Don’t worry,” he called up to his companions. “I’m 
not hurt a bit.” 

“Be careful, lad,” replied Matlock. “It’s not safe to 
venture out now. Wait until the brute goes to the rear- 
deck.” 


Old Ugly and the Panther. 203 

‘We had better end the siege with a rifleball,” ex- 
claimed Hofstein. “Things are getting serious.” 

“Stop — no you don’t,” he added, as he caught Gooloo 
Singh’s arm. 

The Hindoo wanted to join the lad in the hold, and it 
was with extreme difficulty that Hofstein induced him to 
abandon the rash intention. 

Indeed, it would have been simple suicide, for Old Ugly 
was now prancing between hatch and cabin, alternately 
butting them with his horn. 

Meanwhile Marco seized the opportunity to look about 
him. It was a scary place, and he naturally felt rather 
nervous and timid. 

The animals in the surrounding cages were uttering all 
sorts of rasping cries. The bullocks were partitioned offi 
by themselves. Many of them were loose in the pen, and 
all were bellowing loudly. 

Marco’s eyes had scarcely gained power to penetrate 
the gloom when he stepped on something soft, and was 
greeted with a ferocious yell. 

He sprang clear off his feet, horribly scared. Then he 
laughed, as the little tiger-cat, still tangled in the net, 
rolled away from him, snarling and spitting. 

“Say, lad,” called out Matlock, “I’m coming down. I 
want to see if we can’t block the entrance to the hold. If 
Old Ugly gets in there again he’ll play the very devil.” 

“We might do it,” replied Marco. “There’s an empty 
cage here, and some stout planks.” 

Matlock lowered himself over the edge of the hatch, 
and dropped lightly beside the lad. Had they started the 


204 


Old Ugly and the Panther. 


proposed undertaking at once they would probably have 
spared themselves some very troublesome times. 

But their attention was drawn to the tiger-cat, and, by 
the aid of a strip of canvas, they grabbed the little beast 
at both ends, and dumped it into its cage. The latter was 
hastily made secure by nailing a couple of planks over it. 

Meanwhile, Old Ugly had been prowling about the 
foredeck in a very sullen humor, which found vent in 
occasional attacks on the hatch and cabin. 

Suddenly it occurred to his wicked mind to investigate 
the noises in the hold, and off he went in that direction. 

Knowing that his friends were in deadly peril, Hof- 
stein took a hasty shot. He aimed to kill, but the bullet 
merely grazed Old Ugly’s fore-shoulder, and threw him 
into a terrible rage. 

The report of the rifle and the clamor of their com- 
panions gave Matlock and Marco all too brief a warning 
of what was wrong. The next instant the rhinoceros 
came pounding down the plankway into the hold, with 
passion in his glittering little eyes. 

“Dodge him,” yelled Marco. “Jump to one side.” 

“This way, lad,” Matlock shouted. 

He clambered upon the empty cage — which was con- 
veniently near — and hauled Marco up beside him. 

Crash! came Old Ugly’s horny snout, and the cage 
reeled under the shock. 

The fugitives sprang quickly to the adjoining cage, in 
which was confined a huge black panther. Fortunately, 
the edge of the hold was now within reach overhead, 
and, with a little dexterity, they reached the deck. 


205 


Old Ugly and the Panther. 

The escape of his intended victims turned Old Ugly’s 
rage in another direction. With a shrill snort, he charged 
with tremendous force at the black panther’s cage. 

Thump! thump! down fell the cage from its wheeled 
truck. For an instant the noise of splitting timbers and 
blood-curdling yells was deafening. Old Ugly’s snort of 
triumph rose above it all. 

Then the black panther leaped clear out of the hold at 
the rear end. He struck the deck just as the five sweep- 
men, who had profited by Old Ugly’s absence to seek 
more comfortable shelter, rushed forward with Marco 
and Matlock. 

The two latter, with three of the sweep-men, took 
refuge on the roof of the cabin. The others climbed the 
already covered hatch. 

The next act in this impromptu drama was destined to 
be an intensely thrilling one. 

The panther was now squatting on deck midway be- 
tween hatch and cabin. He was in a frightful rage, and 
that meant considerable for a beast of his muscular, squat 
dimensions. 

His restless tail thumped the hard boards, and he 
turned his flaming eyes from side to side, as though de- 
bating where to attack. 

‘T value that fellow more than the rhinoceros,” said 
Hofstein, “but I’m afraid we’ll have to shoot him. He’ll 
likely jump among the men on the hatch.” 

“Wait — don’t fire yet,” exclaimed Matlock. “Let’s 
try the net first. We have one up here.” 

He rose to his feet, and Hofstein did the same. They 


2o6 Old Ugly and tlie Panther. 

took the net between them, and hastily gathered the ends 
in their hands. 

But just when they were ready to make the throw a 
pounding and snorting was heard, and Old Ugly galloped 
on the scene. 

The battle opened without a second’s delay. The 
rhinoceros grunted viciously, and charged. The panther 
sprang to one side with a rasping cry, and Old Ugly’s 
head struck only the side of the cabin. 

The larger animal made three more charges in quick 
succession, all equally futile. He was now boiling over 
with wrath. 

The panther was just as mad, and showed no desire to 
retreat. In cunning and agility he was far more than a 
match for his enemy. He crept around and around the 
rhinoceros, dodging charge after charge. 

Then the opportunity came, and it found the panther 
ready. He flashed through the air, and landed on Old 
Ugly’s hind-quarters. With his sharp claws he drew 
blood from the tough hide. 

The big brute plunged and pranced, and snorted with 
rage and pain. All at once the panther lost his hold, and 
slipped to the deck. 

He was quickly out of reach of his enemy, and for sev- 
eral minutes the drawn game went on — the rhinoceros 
charging and the panther dodging. 

The spectators looked eagerly on, indifferent to all else 
but the thrilling and fascinating sight before their eyes. 

But the end was very near. By a swifter rush than 
usual. Old Ugly drove his enemy against the cabin. 


Old Ugly and the Panther. 207 

Thus cornered, the panther escaped impalement by leaping 
fairly on the head and neck of the rhinoceros. 

There was an instant of fearful squealing and grunt- 
ing and struggling. Red drops trickled down on the 
planks. 

Then, by a vigorous effort. Old Ugly shook his as- 
sailant off. The panther struck the deck with a thump, 
rolled over twice, and plunged tail first down the open 
trap leading to the storeroom. 

A couple of wailing cries were followed by silence. 
Either the beast was injured, or he had no inclination to 
renew the fight. 

Old Ugly stared about him, evidently puzzled by the 
unlooked-for disappearance of his enemy. Then it seemed 
to dawn upon him that he was a victor. Anxious for 
more conquests, he shook his clumsy body, spattering the 
deck with drops of blood, and trotted slowly toward the 
entrance of the hold. 

*‘Good gracious! that will never do,” cried Matlock. 
”He will smash every cage weVe got. I must kill the 
rascal.” 

He lifted his rifle, and took careful aim. 

“Hold on!” exclaimed Marco. “I’ve just thought of 
something. Perhaps I can save him for you, and put an 
end to the siege. There’s shallow water all around us, 
you know. Wait, I’ll show you.” 

Before his companions could check him, the lad 
dropped lightly down from the cabin-roof. Snatching 
the door, which hung by one hinge to the shattered frame, 


2o8 


Old Ugly and the Panther. 

he dropped it over the trap leading to the storeroom, thus 
safely imprisoning the panther. 

Then, paying no heed to the entreaties of his com- 
panions that he should return, he dashed after the rhinoc- 
eros, who was just turning down the plankway to the 
hold. 

At a distance of ten feet he stopped short. He shouted, 
and waved his hands. 

Old Ugly changed his mind at sight of the daring lad. 
He wheeled about, and charged with an angry snort. 

Marco turned, and ran like an arrow to the extreme 
end of the foredeck. Then, within a foot of the rail, he 
faced his pursuer, who was lunging straight forward. 

A simultaneous cry of horror went up from the spec- 
tators on the hatch and cabin. 

But Marco had all his wits about him. He had never 
been more cool and collected in his life. He knew just 
what he was doing. 

When the rhinoceros was only five feet away, the lad 
jumped nimbly to one side. 

The daring ruse was a perfect success. Old Ugly 
could more easily have taken wings and flown than 
checked his mad rush at such short range. With a dis- 
mal snort, he smashed into the rail, swept it aside like an 
egg-shell, and went plunging down to the murky waters 
of the Bramahputra. 

The tremendous splash that followed fairly shook the 
barge. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


AN ANXIOUS CONSULTATION. 

“There,” cried Marco^ with pardonable pride, “I 
thought I could do it.” 

His companions came leaping down from cabin and 
hatch, with words of warm praise and congratulation. 

“You have ended the siege,” declared Hofstein. 

“And came pretty near ending yourself,” added Mat- 
lock. “It was a most daring thing to do.” 

“Aiks well that ends well,” said Marco, laughing. 
“And now for the rhinoceros. We don’t want to lose 
him.” 

Everybody crowded to the rail, and looked down. In 
the dim light they could see Old Ugly swimming clumsily 
toward the shore. He was grunting and splashing, and 
seemed in no wise injured by the fall. 

At a distance of ten feet from the bow of the barge he 
struck shallow water, and began to wade slowly. 

“If we are quick we’ll get him,” cried Matlock. 
“Launch those two boats. Lively, men; there’s no time 
to lose.” 

The boats were hastily lowered, and a crew of six 
dropped into each. Matlock and Hofstein were in charge 
of one, and Marco and Gooloo Singh of the other. Both 
parties had an ample supply of ropes. 


210 


An Anxious Consultation. 


By the aid of lanterns the two boats were pulled into 
position at an equal distance of eight feet above j‘hd be- 
low the rhinoceros, and in a very short time the brute 
was securely lassoed from both directions. 

The cold bath seemed to have cowed him^ and he sub- 
mitted to capture very gracefully. 

Three natives from each craft now jumped out into 
the shallow water, and while they kept the ropes drawn 
taut the boats pulled back to the barge. 

The entrance to the hold, luckily, faced the shore, and 
the gangway — which was more than ordinarily long and 
heavy — was lowered from in front of it. Three of the 
heaviest sweep-men climbed partly down, so that the 
lower end rested on the bottom of the river. 

While this was being done under Matlock’s super- 
vision, Hofstein and Marco hastily repaired Old Ugly’s 
cage, and wheeled it into the required position. 

The next step proved less difficult than was antici- 
pated. The six men in the river wheeled Old Ugly 
around, and dragged him toward the barge. His clumsy 
body was cleverly guided onto the gangway, and thence 
up to the deck. 

Several minutes later the vicious brute — now as gentle 
as a lamb — was safe behind the bars of his cage. 

“The worst is over,” exclaimed Matlock, in a tone of 
great relief. “The panther comes next.” 

He gave orders to prepare nets and ropes, and heat 
irons. 

“The animal’s cage is too badly smashed for use,” said 
Marco. 


An Anxious Consultation. 2ii 

‘Then we’ll take the empty one,” replied Hofstein. 

When the necessary preparations were completed, the 
door was lifted off the trap, and the panther was seen 
crouching at the foot of the ladder. 

Jafar instantly cast a noosed rope about the animal’s 
neck, and a dozen strong arms pulled him to the deck, 
where he was quickly netted. 

The hot irons were not required, since the panther was 
too nearly suffocated to make much of a struggle. He 
was easily dragged into his cage, and locked up. 

Then the work of restoring the barge to shipshape 
condition again was rapidly proceeded with. The natives 
tossed the mangled body of the tiger-cat into the river, 
and scrubbed the deck. 

Marco and Gooloo Singh repaired the gate leading to 
the hold, and put a new rail on the fore-end of the barge. 

Matlock and Hofstein tinkered at the badly-shattered 
cabin, and succeeded in making it look quite respectable. 

Morning dawned shortly after the tired men ceased 
work. However, not a craft of any kind was in sight 
up or down the river. 

Matlock lost his temper at the prospect of further delay, 
and used some language which very likely made the ab- 
sent Garcia’s ears burn. 

But at the moment when the situation looked blackest 
an unexpected piece of good fortune changed gloom to 
rejoicing. 

The murky waters of the Bramahputra assumed a 
deeper yellow tinge, and the current was seen to flow 
more swiftly. Owing to the sudden swelling of its 


212 


An Anxious Consultation. 


tributary mountain streams — which was a common oc- 
currence at this time of the year — the river was on the 
rise. 

“Hurrah! we’ll soon be free,” cried Matlock. “This 
is rare good luck.” 

“Don’t be too sure,” replied Hofstein. “The flood may 
not rise high enough to lift us off.” 

“The sahibs need have no fear,” confidently declared 
Gooloo Singh. “I know the signs. This is only the be- 
ginning.” 

The Hindoo’s prophecy was verified. Higher and 
higher crept the yellow waters. Their rise could be 
plainly noted on the sides of the barge and along the 
jungle-clad shore. 

An hour after daylight the barge began to creak and 
tremble, and a minute or two later it slid off the bottom 
with a crunching noise, and drifted rapidly down stream. 

Amid the glad confusion and cheering, Matlock’s voice 
rang out distinctly in rapid words of command. 

The sweep-men hurried to the oar-blades, and worked 
with a hearty zest. They swung the Assam Tiger clear 
around, and soon had it well out on the broad bosom of 
the Bramahputra. 

Then breakfast was prepared for the hungry men, and 
the bullocks and beasts were fed and watered. 

Gooloo Singh assumed the duties of pilot, and mounted 
the bridge where Gunga Ra had planned his diabolical 
treachery. 

But there was little need for such a post now. The 


An Anxious Consultation. 213 

river was broad and deep, and passing vessels were very 
infrequent. 

Long before noon Rangamati hove in sight, and the 
barge was moored at one of the town wharves. This, it 
will be remembered, was the place to which Matlock and 
his companions had come by rail, and where they had 
commenced their water journey to Goalpara. 

Matlock and Hofstein went into the town, and, after 
purchasing a quantity of supplies and ordering them to 
be sent to the barge, they visited the police authorities, 
and warned them to be on the lookout for Garcia. 

The English inspector promised to do all in his power. 
He expressed the opinion that the ruffian would make his 
way to Rangamati, and try to get down country by rail. 

By two o’clock in the afternoon the Assam Tiger was 
once more adrift. Before evening it passed the right- 
angular bend of the Bramahputra, and was borne due 
south on the swollen yellow flood. 

For a week there was little to break the monotony of 
the journey, save passing steamers and the tie-ups at 
night along shore. Gooloo Singh shared the duties of 
pilot with his companions, who quickly “learned the 
ropes.” 

This part of the Bramahputra was wild and lonely. 
In a distance of one hundred miles there were only one or 
two squalid settlements of half-savage people. 

Meanwhile, the river had been growing wider and 
wider, and on the sixth day the barge entered that lower 
portion of the stream which assumes a different name, and 
is called the Megua. 


214 An Anxious Consultation. 

Here, in the increased current, much better speed was 
made. Instead of tying up at night, the Assam Tiger 
boldly pursued her course, displaying an abundance of 
warning lights fore and aft. 

On the ninth day after leaving Goalpara, the barge was 
drifting down midstream. The Megua was now fully 
twenty miles broad, and the shores to right and left, each 
ten miles away, were but dimly visible. 

Here and there on the waste of waters was the white 
sail of a budgerow, or the smoking funnel of a steamer. 

It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and on the fore- 
deck sat Matlock and three companions. For the time 
being no pilot occupied the bridge. 

Matlock held a well-thumbed chart in his hand, and it 
was evident that a consultation of a serious nature had 
been taking place. A greater or less degree of per- 
plexity was marked on every countenance. 

“As I understand it, then,” said Hofstein, “we are now 
only forty miles from the Bay of Bengal, and that forty- 
mile stretch is attended with a certain amount of danger.” 

“Danger, unless we are taken in tow by a steamer,” 
added Marco. 

“Exactly,” replied Matlock. “We shall need the 
steamer anyhow, since there is a sea voyage before us of 
nearly two hundred miles, from the mouth of the Megua 
to Calcutta. I confess I did not calculate upon needing 
it so soon.” 

“But you will, sahibs,” declared Gooloo Singh. “I do 
not warn you idly. I know something of this lower part 
of the river. Storms are frequent, and a very bad one 


An Anxious Consultation. 


215 


will wreck the barge upon the shore, or drive it far out 
into the bay, where tremendous waves will make an end 
of it” 

''It is hard to believe in storms under such a sky,” said 
Marco. 

"And yet I can feel in my bones that one is coming,” 
replied the Hindoo. "The air tells of it — this perfect 
calm. And look, sahibs, not a vessel is in sight. The 
native pilots are wise, and note the signs.” 

"Then we will make for the left shore at once,” said 
IMatlock, decidedly, "and find a safe harbor, where we 
can lie in wait for one of the tug-steamers that come up 
from the bay.” 

"It will require hours to swing across ten miles of cur- 
rent,” muttered Hofstein. "Can we beat the storm?” 

"Who knows, sahib?” replied Gooloo Singh, as he 
strode to the rear-deck to give the necessary orders to the 
sweep-men. 

A moment later he was perched aloft on the bridge. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


SWEPT AWAY. 

It was, as Hofstein had said, a most laborious task to 
propel such a clumsy craft as the Assam Tiger diagonally 
across a ten-mile stretch of rapidly-flowing water — for 
the current of the Bramahputra had grown much more 
swift in the past few days. 

The barge slipped down stream two miles for every 
half-mile that was gained in the direction of shore. 
Moreover, Jthe river seemed to be constantly widening as 
it drew near the Bay of Bengal. 

Four o'clock found the great expanse of water still de- 
serted. There was a shuddering calm in the air, and the 
sun was fearfully oppressive — even under the awnings. 

An hour later the distant shores were enveloped in a 
murky, pearl-colored haze. The sky had a strange, 
weird look that was reflected on the surface of the river. 

That these signs meant something terrible could no 
longer be doubted. Down in the hold the bullocks lowed 
hoarsely, and the wild animals uttered restless cries. 

The sweep-men jabbered ominously to one another, as 
they shuffled to and fro at their work. ’ Gooloo Singh sat 
on the bridge like a piece of bronze statuary. He rarely 
moved, except to glance up at the sky. 

Matlock and his companions anxiously paced the deck. 


Swept Away. 217 

There was nothing for them to do but watch and wait. 
They realized the helplessness of the situation. 

Just at sunset the great change came — so swiftly and 
violently as to strike terror to every heart. A purple 
darkness blotted out the shores and the sky overhead, and 
strode rapidly over the water from all directions. 

The gloom of midnight fell on the barge, and the very 
lanterns seemed to shed a bluish light. 

There was a brief moment or two of this condition, and 
then a pelting shower of rain fell, mingled with flashes 
of forked lightning. 

“The wind will be next, sahibs,” Gooloo Singh shouted 
down from the bridge. “Make ready for it.” 

So Matlock collected all hands, except the relay of 
men at the sweeps, and led them into the hold. They 
hurriedly lifted all the cages off the trucks, and arranged 
them as securely as possible. 

Then they came upon deck, and fastened all the hatch- 
covers down, and stretched oilskins over the entrance of 
the hold to keep the water out. 

“Where are we?” exclaimed Matlock, trying to peek 
into the gloom. 

“Half-a-dozen miles from shore at the least,” replied 
Hofstein. “We can’t make it. We must trust to ” 

The rest of the sentence was drowned in an awful roar, 
and quickly the hurricane struck the barge. 

At the first blast those on the foredeck threw them- 
selves flat, to prevent being blown away. Gooloo Singh, 
who had lingered too long on his perch, made a quick 


2i8 


Swept Away. 


jump, and landed on the hatches just as the ruins of the 
bridge clattered about his ears. 

He gained the deck, and crawled over to Matlock and 
his companions. 

“Stick fast, sahibs!” he shouted. “It is an awful 
storm. One of the sweep-men was blown overboard. 
I saw him by a flash of lightning.” 

This news was received with less horror than it would 
have been under other circumstances. The barge was 
now pitching and reeling dizzily, and great waves were 
slapping its sides. 

It was a fearful thing to lie there on the exposed deck, 
and listen to the creaking, whistling fury of the de- 
structive gale. 

Rip! rip! Away went the awnings, whirled aloft like 
so many huge, flapping birds. 

Bang! jingle! One by one the lanterns were blown 
into the river, or dashed to fragments on the deck. Not 
a light was left. In the purple gloom the outlines of hold 
and rail could be faintly seen. 

The rain had ceased, but the lightning flashed an ac- 
companiment to the wailing of the hurricane. 

Suddenly there was a tremendous crash, and the cabin, 
rent to fragments, vanished from the deck, carrying a 
section of the rail with it. 

The cook had foolishly taken refuge there, and his 
agonized face was visible for a brief instant in a glare of 
lightning. Then he disappeared forever. 

Matlock uttered a loud cry, and warned his companions 
not to move. He could scarcely be heard, for the roar of 


Swept Away. 219 

the tempest was mingled with a hubbub of shrill noises 
from the poor beasts confined in the hold. 

“Surely this can’t last long,” shouted Hofstein. 

“No, sahibs,” shouted the Hindoo, “these storms are 
seldom of great duration. But the worst peril is yet to 
come. The river will be lashed into mighty waves. 
They will rise higher and higher, and may sweep over the 
barge.” 

“That’s a pleasant prospect,” cried Matlock. “There 
are life-preservers in the stateroom. We ought to have 
them.” 

He started to crawl forward, but Marco, who was 
nearest the trap, stopped him. 

“Stay where you are,” he shouted. “I’ll get them.” 

The plucky lad crept to the ladder, and the moment he 
was below deck and out of the gale, the feeling of relief 
was tremendous. 

He quickly found the life-preservers, and, after putting 
one on himself, he carried three loads up the ladder, and 
threw them to his companions. 

Then he crawled back to his place beside Gooloo 
Singh. 

For a few minutes the hurricane increased in violence, 
and the two boats were blown off the deck. 

Finally the wind abated a little. Matlock loaded him- 
self with life-preservers, and crept from one end of the 
deck to the other, distributing them to the scattered crew. 

“It looks as though the worst was over,” he said, when 
he came back. “We have lost two men — the cook and 


220 


Swept Away. 


one of the sweep- fellows. We can’t do any more steer- 
ing, though. Both the sweeps are gone.” 

'That doesn’t matter much,” replied Hofstein. "It is 
all the better that we are far from shore. The main 
thing now is to weather the waves.” 

"I hope we can do it,” resumed Matlock. "It would be 
terrible to lose another convoy of animals. But the 
Assam Tiger is a stanch craft. I think we’ll pull 
through.” 

Gooloo Singh said nothing, but the expression of his 
face showed that he was far from sharing the con- 
fidence of his companions. 

During the next hour the wind fell more and more, 
while the violence of the river increased in the same ratio. 
The barge plunged and careened in every conceivable 
direction. 

Matlock and his companions made their way to the 
hold, and clung in an upright position to the raised end. 
At every flash of lightning they could see the dusky fig- 
ures of the crew standing in similar attitudes all along 
the hatches. 

Once a shrill whistle and a puffing noise were heard 
close by. Some vessel was in the vicinity, but nothing 
could be seen of it through the inky darkness. 

Several minutes of dreadful suspense followed. All 
waited and listened for the deadly collision that they 
feared. At Matlock’s suggestion they shouted half-a- 
dozen times. 

But the crash did not come, and, after a while, the 
whistle was heard faintly at a great distance. 


221 


Swept Away. 

The chances now looked far brighter, but the calm 
proved to be only a forerunner of the dangers that Gooloo 
Singh had predicted. 

The gale increased, and cyclonic winds shrieked on all 
sides, spinning the barge about in half-circles. The 
waves rose higher, and their white tips broke over the 
deck in swirling pools of foam. 

Then drenching torrents of rain pattered down, and 
forked lightning blazed over the inky sky. 

Nor had the storm yet reached its limit. Each 
ravenous wave was larger and more violent than the last. 
Every now and then a sharp snapping noise told that the 
rail was going piecemeal. 

Water rolled over the deck and dropped sullenly down 
into hold and storeroom. The figures clinging to the 
hatches were knee-deep half the time. The spray con- 
tinually slapped them in the face with stinging force. 

Suddenly the foreend of the barge rose high up, and 
at the same instant a grinding, splashing noise was heard 
from the stern, accompanied by shrill cries. 

‘‘Look 1*^ yelled Hofstein, as a lightning flash lit up the 
scene. “A great wave has washed over the rear-deck, 
and swept away some of the poor fellows.’^ 

“Heaven help us V* cried Matlock. “We can’t hold out 
much longer.” 

A moment later the position of the barge was reversed. 
The bow settled deep down in the angry river, and before 
it could rise a veritable mountain of water was seen roll- 
ing forward from the left. 


222 


Swept Away. 

“Here it comes,” warned Hof stein, in a shrill voice. 
“Hold fast, for your lives!” 

Fearing that Marco’s slim form would be swept away, 
Gooloo Singh clung to the hatch with only one arm, 
while he threw the other about the lad’s waist. 

It was a fatal change. The monstrous wave rolled 
clear across the deck, and when its fury was spent. Mat- 
lock and Hofstein found themselves alone. 

A cry of despair came to their ears from far out on the 
black river. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


THE BURNING VESSEL. 

In that awful moment when they were swept from the 
deck of the barge, Marco and Gooloo Singh held fast to 
each other. The crest of the wave carried them far out, 
and then they seemed to shoot down to the bottom of the 
river. 

As they came up once more, chilled with cold, and half- 
suffocated, a flash of lightning showed them the barge at 
a distance of several hundred feet. 

Then the thick, black darkness settled down, and for 
five minutes it was a desperate struggle for breath amid 
the angry waves. But for their life-preservers, the cast- 
aways must have succumbed at once. 

Still clinging to each other, they were spun around 
like egg-shells, now high up on the crest of the billows, 
now deep down in a watery trough. 

They were soon bruised from head to foot, but, after 
the first chill, they did not feel the cold so much. The 
rain was making the water warm. 

The hurricane now seemed to have spent its fury. The 
violence of the waves subsided, and a choppy rain beat 
down with stinging effect. 

''Have courage, sahib,'' said Gooloo Singh. "The 
worst is over." 


224 Burning Vessel. 

“It doesn’t matter much,” replied Marco, despondently. 
“We’ve got to go to the bottom sooner or later. I’m 
giving out, Gooloo. I feel a sort of numbness coming 
over me.” 

“I will save you, sahib,” declared the Hindoo. “See ! I 
can hold you up. We will drift until morning, and then 
there will surely be vessels in sight.” 

“Morning!” gasped Marco. “Ah! that — is hours — 
away. It’s no — use — no use^ ” 

The words ended in a husky groan, and the lad drooped 
limply against the Hindoo’s breast. 

They drifted on and on, while the waves still spun 
them about, and lashed them savagely. 

The lightning played incessantly over the dark river, 
but no trace of the barge could be seen. Either it had 
gone to the bottom or had been blown widely apart from 
the castaways. 

But a more vivid flash than usual revealed something 
that was almost equally welcome — a small boat, tossing 
bottom up among the waves. 

The Hindoo waited eagerly for the next flash, and 
when it came he saw the craft within a dozen feet. 

More by chance than skill he managed to clutch the 
bow with his disengaged hand, and in this position he re- 
mained for a moment, recruiting his exhausted strength. 

The boat was evidently one of the two that had been 
blown oflf the Assam Tiger. It must have drifted parallel 
with the barge for three or four miles. 

Finally, the Hindoo managed to lift the only half-con- 
scious body of Marco onto the bottom., and there he held 


The Burning Vessel. 225 

him fast for nearly an hour while they rode on among the 
turbulent waves. 

By this time the rain had ceased, and the wind had 
dropped to a gentle breeze. The darkness was as im- 
penetrable as ever. 

Suddenly Marco lifted his head, and looked around. 

“Where am I?” he muttered. “Oh! I remember now. 
Are you there, Gooloo?” 

“Yes, sahib,“ replied the Hindoo. “Have no fear. 
We are safe, and the storm is over.” 

He briefly went on to explain about the boat. 

“It’s lucky we ran across it,” said Marco. “The last 
thing I remember is an awful pain in my head while you 
were holding me up among the waves. Then it all 
seemed to fade away.” 

He rubbed his forehead with one hand, and then added : 

“No wonder I had a pain. There’s an ugly bruise 
over my left eye.” 

“You must have struck the rail when we were washed 
off the deck,” suggested Gooloo Singh. 

“Yes, that’s just it. I didn’t feel the blow until after- 
ward, and then it made me weak all of a sudden 

Hullo! what’s that, Gooloo?” 

As the lad spoke the boat lurched forward on the crest 
of a wave, and the next instant there came a grinding 
shock. The castaways felt bottom under their feet, and 
saw a dark blot just in front of them. 

“An island!” cried Gooloo Singh, and, taking hold of 
Marco, he dragged him onto firm ground. Then he 


226 


The Burning Vessel. 


plunged back into the shallow water, and hauled the boat 
far out of reach of the waves. 

With thankful hearts, the rescued ones scanned their 
surroundings as well as the gloom permitted. The spot 
on which they had providentially run aground was indeed 
an island in the middle of the Brahmaputra. 

At the normal stage of the river it was probably of 
some extent, for in all directions the tops of trees and 
bushes could be seen sticking out of the water. 

Now only the ridged top of the island rose above the 
flood. This space, however, was thirty feet long and half 
that in width. It was covered with low bushes, and in 
the very center was a great mass of bowlders. 

Between these rocks the castaways discovered a tri- 
angular crevice, plenty large enough to hold them both. 

“Very nice place, sahib,” said Gooloo Singh. “We will 
be comfortable here until morning.” 

“It would be a good deal snugger place if we had a 
fire,” replied Marco. “I have matches, but I don’t know 
that they will do us any good.” 

He took a little waterproof metal box from his pocket, 
opened it, and scraped a match on the lid. The tiny flame 
showed the rear end of the crevice to be choked with drift- 
wood that had lodged there during past floods. 

“Hurrah! here is fuel in plenty,” cried Marco; “nice 
and dry, too. Grab a lot of it, Gooloo, before the match 
goes out.” 

The Hindoo quickly collected a double armful of the 
wood, and Marco was just about to apply the match to 
some of the smaller fragments, when three sharp reports 


The Burning Vessel. 227 

were heard in rapid succession. The sound came faintly 
down the river and died away in long echoes. 

Marco let the match fall, and the crevice was plunged 
in utter darkness. 

“What was that he cried. 

“Gunshots, sahib,’' replied Gooloo Singh. “They 
seemed very near, but they were really at a great distance. 
There is but little wind now, and sound travels far over 
the water.” 

“I wonder what it means,” muttered the lad, and as if 
in answer, a blaze of red flame suddenly illumined the 
dark night. 

The Hindoo’s usual stolidity vanished at the sight, and 
he rose to his feet in great excitement. 

“A vessel on fire, sahib,” he cried. “It is at least four 
miles up stream, and lies off toward the left shore.” 

“It can’t be the Assam Tiger?” exclaimed Marco, anx- 
iously. 

“No, sahib, that is impossible. The barge is by this 
time far down the river, and no doubt our friends are 
safe.” 

“It’s queer about the shooting,” said Marco. “The fire 
is more easily accounted for.” 

The Hindoo shook his head gloomily. 

“Strange and terrible deeds are sometimes committed 
on the lower parts of this river,” he replied. “More than 
one vessel has been captured and sunk by piratical na- 
tives.” 

“And do you think that is what is going on up there 
now?” asked Marco. 


228 


The Burning Vessel. 


‘‘Who knows, sahib?” the Hindoo answered, mys- 
teriously. “But look, the flames are going down.” 

He was right. Fainter and fainter grew the ruddy 
glow, in spite of the tongues of fire that occasionally 
leaped up as though loath to abandon their prey. 

At last the glare dwindled to a tiny spark, and then 
vanished altogether, leaving no trace on the dark night. 

“It is over,” said Gooloo Singh. “The vessel must 
have sunk gradually.” 

“Or else they managed to put the fire out with the 
pumps,” suggested Marco. 

The Hindoo shrugged his shoulders doubtfully, and sat 
down. 

“If your view o^ the matter is right,” resumed Marco, 
“some of the crew may have escaped in boats. If we 
light the fire now, it will guide them here.” 

“They will find the main shore much closer,” replied 
Gooloo Singh. “Still, we must have the fire for our- 
selves, sahib. And the light may shine through these 
rocks, and be seen by our friends down the river.” 

“That’s so,” exclaimed Marco, eagerly. “When morn- 
ing comes, we’ll take the boat and paddle after the barge.” 

A moment later a blazing fire was crackling at the 
mouth of the crevice, and casting a red gleam far out on 
the swift waters. 

While the Hindoo pulled the boat higher into the 
bushes, for fear of a further rise, Marco gathered a great 
heap of dry wood and stacked it neatly. 

Then they sat down with their backs against the rocky 
walls, and listened to the soft moan of the breeze, and 


The Burning Vessel. 229 

the soughing of the waves on the shores of the island. 
There was little trace left of the recent hurricane. 

The warmth of the fire gradually dried their clothes, 
and then a feeling of intense drowsiness stole over both. 
For a time, without knowing why, they struggled against 
it. 

Finally Marco’s eyes closed, and he slipped down from 
his rigid position. He was sound asleep. 

Gooloo Singh placed fresh wood on the sinking fire, 
and crouched comfortably beside the lad. A moment 
later he, too, was slumbering. 

Little did they dream to what ill-omened voyager their 
blazing fire was proving a beacon of refuge. 

From far up river a boat was moving steadily toward 
the light — a small, graceful craft, painted blue and bear- 
ing in white letters the name of Pearl of Delhi. 

In the stern crouched a hideous figure, paddling alter- 
nately from right to left with one oar. 

To all appearances he was a half-naked, bearded Hin- 
doo. On each wrist was a heavy iron bracelet, and from 
each bracelet dangled six inches of chain. One eye was 
swollen half-shut, and on his left cheek was a raw, bleed- 
ing wound, looking as though recently ploughed by a rifle 
ball. 

The man shivered in his wet, blood-stained garments. 
The shiver may have meant cold or fear. Probably the 
latter, for he frequently glanced into the blackness behind 
him. 

“Bah! what a fool I am,” he muttered. “There’s no 
danger now. Fve given them the slip neatly. The fire 


230 The Burning Vessel. 

kept them busy, curse them ! Why did they get it out ? 
The steamer must be anchored. I suppose the water dis- 
abled the machinery. Well, I must make the most of my 
chance. If I’m caught now it means ” 

He broke off with a curse, and turned for another look 
behind. 

“Murder!” he resumed, “and a bloody one, too. But 
it couldn’t be helped. The fool wouldn’t submit.” 

He paddled harder than ever, steering straight for the 
fire, which loomed larger and nearer every instant. 

“Yonder light must be the shore,” he muttered. “I 
can’t be deceived in that. And once safe in the jungle, 
I defy capture. I’ll have my revenge yet — ay, and the 
money that was bargained for. Then I’ll slip away from 
this accursed land. But I’ll keep good track of him. He 
shall be my banker, and a generous one, too.” 

Ten minutes later the boat was so close to the fire that 
the rocks and bushes could be plainly seen. 

The stranger held the oar stationery, and swore fear- 
fully under his breath. 

“An island!” he hissed. “Sacre! it is my usual luck. 
And who can be there ? Shall I stop, or go around it ?” 

He hesitated a moment. Then he changed the boat’s 
course, and dipped the oar with noiseless strokes. He 
made a wide detour beyond the firelight, and swung in 
at the louver end of the island. 

A moment later the boat was grounded in the mud, and 
the stranger was creeping through the bushes toward the 
clump of rocks. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


THE ATTACK. 

Gooloo Singh slept the deep, dreamless sleep of utter 
exhaustion, but it was otherwise with Marco. The pain- 
ful bruises on his head, combined with all that he had 
suffered lately, filled his brain with troubled visions, and 
suddenly he opened his eyes and sat up. 

He was wet with perspiration from head to foot, and 
his heart was beating rapidly. 

He glanced at the Hindoo, and then at the fire. He 
was about to put some fresh wood on the still ruddy em- 
bers, when he heard a sharp sound near by, exactly like 
the snapping of a dry twig. 

The lad instantly became alert and watchful. He was 
so anxious to discover what the noise meant that he dared 
not awaken Gooloo Singh, for fear of scaring the intruder 
away. 

The sounds came closer and closer, and whether made 
by man or beast, it was as yet impossible to tell. 

Marco slipped behind a projecting rock on the oppo- 
site side of the crevice, where he could command a good 
view of the opening without being seen himself. 

He had hardly taken this position when the stealthy 
footsteps drew very near. It was now evident that the 
unwelcome visitor was human. 


232 


The Attack. 


Marco felt a sudden thrill of terror. He and his com- 
panion were absolutely unarmed; there was not even a 
pocketknife between them. 

A stone as large as his two fists caught the lad’s eyes, 
and by an indefinable impulse, he picked it up. 

The next instant a shadow darkened the mouth of the 
crevice, and the glow of the embers shone on the stooping 
figure and evil, bearded face of the false Gunga Ra — of 
Senor Garcia. 

The blood fairly froze in Marco’s veins. For the mo- 
ment he was powerless to move. 

As the Portuguese crept closer, peering sharply into 
the space behind the fire, he drew a long, keen-bladed 
knife from his belt. 

The ruffian had now spied and recognized the Hindoo, 
and intended murder was written on his ferocious face. 

He slipped by the fire, and paused beside the slumber- 
ing man. The knife, clutched in his right hand, rose for 
the deadly stroke. 

Another second would have seen the blade buried in 
Gooloo Singh’s breast. 

But just then Marco leaned forward and threw the 
stone. His aim was as sure as his purpose. The missile 
hit the knife, and knocked it out of Garcia’s hand. Stone 
and weapon flew against the wall, and fell to the ground 
on the farther side of the Hindoo. 

This unexpected attack was too much for the ruffian. 
He lost his head and bolted out of the crevice with a 
harsh cry. 

Out dashed Marco likewise, shouting lustily to Gooloo 


The Attack. 


233 

Singh. The lad’s blood was up, and he was reckless with 
passion. 

Too reckless, perhaps, for he had gone less than ten 
feet when he plumped into the arms of Garcia, who had 
immediately wheeled around. 

The knowledge that his enemy was unarmed gave 
Marco courage to offer a valorous resistance. 

But, as on previous occasions, the wiry Portuguese 
proved himself much the stronger of the two. His tac- 
tics were merciless and swift. 

After partly throttling the lad, and beating him on the 
face, he hurled him roughly forward. 

Garcia’s intention was to place the one enemy hors de 
combat, so that he might be free to encounter the other. 
And he succeeded admirably. 

Marco tumbled into the boat belonging to the barge, 
and struck his injured forehead violently on the gunwale. 
The ugly bruise was split open, and the lad became ut- 
terly helpless with pain and dizziness. 

This brief encounter had transpired in far less time 
than it takes to tell. 

Garcia had scarcely faced around when the awakened 
Hindoo burst from the crevice, boiling over with rage. 

There was light enough from the fire to show Marco’s 
ghastly, bleeding face peeping from the boat, and the 
sight acted on Gooloo Singh like a red rag on a bull. 

Unfortunately, he had known nothing of the knife, and 
so he was unarmed. With a hoarse shout, he dashed at 
Garcia. 

The ruffian knew better than to come to close quarters 


234 


The Attack. 


with a man so much larger and stronger than himself. 
When his assailant was almost upon him, he dropped sud- 
denly on all fours. 

It was a risky trick, and one that fails almost as often 
as it succeeds. 

But this time it proved all right — for Garcia. The 
Hindoo tripped over the kneeling body and landed half-a- 
dozen feet away. 

Then quickly the ruffian was up, and speeding like a 
deer toward the crevice. He vanished between the rocks, 
and when he emerged, an instant later, the knife was in 
his hand, and a Satanic smile wreathed his face. 

By this time Gooloo Singh had risen, and was close to 
the crevice in pursuit of his tricky enemy. He saw the 
knife, and an instinct of prudence checked the reckless at- 
tack that he meditated. 

So the Hindoo turned, and ran toward the point of the 
island, looking vainly to right and left for stones or any- 
thing else that would serve for defense. Garcia fol- 
lowed quickly and warily. 

As the Hindoo passed him, Marco staggered to his 
feet, but sank down again, overcome by pain and weak- 
ness. 

'‘Be careful!” he cried, faintly. “Look out for the 
knife.” 

Gooloo Singh shot an anxious glance at the lad, and 
sped on. He reached the point of the island, and there 
he saw what he wanted — a stone four or five times as 
large as his head, imbedded in the soil at the water’s 
edge. 


The Attack. 


235 

It was enormously heavy, but it was that or nothing. 
There was no time to delay. 

The Hindoo stooped, and tore the rock loose. As he 
turned around, he lifted the heavy burden in both hands 
straight above his head. 

Garcia was but six feet distant, with upraised knife. 

“Your time has come, fiend,” cried Gooloo Singh. 
“See, I can crush your bones. Cast down the weapon 
and surrender.” 

The ruffian answered with a devilish snarl that was 
more like a wild beast than a human being. He slack- 
ened speed a little, but still came on, watchfully and sav- 
agely, creeping from side to side. 

Marco’s swimming brain only half comprehended the 
situation, but he realized that a moment more would set- 
tle his own fate. Was it to be life or death ? 

Gooloo Singh ha,d the advantage, but he was destined 
to lose it in a very sudden and unexpected manner. Just 
as he was about to make an unerring cast, the heavy 
weight overbalanced him, and dragged his arm$ behind 
his head. 

He tried in vain to recover himself. Then he reeled 
backward, and stone and man came down together in the 
shallow water with a mighty splash. 

The Hindoo staggered upright, submerged almost to 
the waist, and that instant Garcia was upon him with a 
bound like a tiger. 

There was a brief struggle in the water; there were 
snarls and curses, and panting cries. 

“Die — die, you dog!” hissed Garcia. 


236 


The Attack. 


The knife flashed briefly in air, and found lodgment in 
a human breast. 

The sorely-wounded Hindoo threw up his arms, uttered 
a gurgling moan, and fell back among the waves. The 
current snatched him and whirled him swiftly down along 
the shore of the island. 

The assassin waded out on land, still clutching the 
blood-stained knife. With a brief glance at the lad he ran 
along the water’s edge, and followed with his eyes the 
drifting body of his victim. 

When he saw it sink beneath the black waters at a 
point opposite the cluster of rocks, he uttered a grunt of 
satisfaction, and turned back. 

By this time Marco was mercifully oblivious to the fate 
that threatened him. With sickening horror and an- 
guish, he had witnessed the murder of his faithful friend, 
and after that he fainted away. 

It was but a brief respite, however. When the lad 
came to his senses, a few moments later, he was propped 
in a sitting posture against one of the rocky walls of the 
crevice. His arms and legs were tightly bound with 
ropes fashioned from his captor’s belt and blouse. 

His wrists were drawn overhead, and secured to a pro- 
jection of the rock. A heavy slab of stone rested on his 
feet and ankles, so that it was impossible to move them. 

Worse still, a mass of dry wood — all that the crevice 
contained — was heaped on the slab and around both sides 
of him. 

Worst of all, the Portuguese squatted in front of the 


The Attack. 


237 


lad, leering horribly at him, and glancing sideways at the 
still ruddy embers of the fire in a very significant manner. 

What these preparations foretold was easy to guess, 
and in spite of stupefying dizziness and racking pain, 
Marco realized that he was doomed to be burned alive. 

He made a feeble attempt to break loose, but he could 
not move even a limb. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


STRANGE RESCUERS. 

‘Tt is useless,” cried Garcia, mockingly. “You will tug 
in vain. Ay, and in vain will you beg for mercy. At 
last my revenge is sure. I will burn you alive. I will 
sit here and enjoy your agonies.” 

The ruffian laughed brutally, and snapped his fingers. 
Then he raked the burning embers all around the wood 
that covered the lower part of Marco’s body. 

He knelt down and blew hard upon them until little 
red flames leaped up, crackling and hissing, in half-a- 
dozen places. 

Marco felt the heat and the smoke. The mental agony 
of that moment was awful. Never had life seemed 
sweeter to him. He tried to cry out, but his tongue 
seemed to stick fast to the roof of his mouth. 

Morning was now at hand. A pale gray light was 
streaking the outer blackness. Garcia suddenly dis- 
covered the fact, and it warned him not to linger. 

With a savage oath, he raked the wood closer together, 
and satisfied himself that the flames had gained a good 
headway. 

“You dog!” he snarled. “I must leave you to die by 
inches. May you suffer torments until the setting of the 
sun. May you ” 


239 


Strange Rescuers, 

His voice fairly choked with rage. He cast a last 
look of hatred at his victirrij dashed out of the crevice, 
and disappeared. 

Marco saw the flames creeping nearer, and felt their 
scorching breath. He shouted again and again, though 
he knew it was useless. He tried hard to free his arms 
and legs. 

Just as he abandoned hope, and let his head fall weakly 
on his breast, there was a scuffling noise in the rear of the 
crevice, and through a narrow fissure crept Gooloo Singh. 

His face was deadly pale, and the bosom of his blouse 
was saturated with clotted blood. 

He uttered a low cry of joy, and feebly crawled nearer. 
With his naked hands he tore away the burning sticks 
and scattered them right and left. 

Then he caught sight of the knife, which Garcia had 
ignorantly dropped, and with a few quick strokes he lib- 
erated Marco’s feet and arms. 

The effort was too much for him. He toppled over on 
his back, faintly muttering the lad’s name. His wound 
broke out afresh, and a crimson pool slowly gathered on 
the ground. 

Marco stretched his cramped limbs. The pain and diz- 
ziness seemed to leave him all of a sudden. He sank on 
his knees beside the faithful Hindoo. 

“Thank Heaven!” he cried. “You came just in time. 
I thought you were dead, Gooloo. Where is Garcia? 
Have you seen him ?” 

“No, sahib,” was the husky reply, “but beware. His 


240 


Strange Rescuers. 

boat lies — behind — the rocks. I floated down — with the 
— current — and swam — to the island. Then I crept up — 
through the bushes. It is — too late. I am — ” 

The words ended in a hollow groan. His eyes closed, 
and his head fell back. He lay as one dead. 

Marco burst into tears. 

“Gooloo, speak to me,” he cried. “Look up. Oh! 
don’t leave me — don’t leave me.” 

There was a heavy footstep outside the crevice, and 
Garcia’s evil face peered in. 

Like a flash Marco seized the knife and sprang to his 
feet. He looked like a fury as he stood between the 
rocks, brandishing the long-bladed weapon. 

“Keep back, you devil,” he yelled, ferociously. “Keep 
back. It is my turn now. Come a step nearer, and I 
will plunge this knife into your black heart.” 

The ruffian was actually cowed by the lad’s valor and 
rage. He swore fearfully as he dodged from side to 
side, watching for a chance to slip into the crevice. 

Finally he retreated a few steps, keeping his face 
toward the lad. He was evidently looking for stones. 

Just then a splashing noise was heard up the river. 
There was no mistaking the sound. It was the regular 
dip of oars. 

Garcia shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and in the 
gray light of morning he saw a dark object coming 
swiftly toward the island. 

His face blanched with terror, and he stood undecided 
for a moment. 

“Help ! help !” shouted Marco, at the top of his voice. 


Strange Rescuers, 241 

A response floated back over the water, and the oars 
were heard to dip faster. 

Garcia realized that the game was up. With a snarl 
of rage, the baffled ruffian fled around the angle of the 
rocks. 

Marco staggered weakly after him, but he was too late. 
When he reached the lower side of the rocks, Garcia was 
already adrift and paddling furiously down the river. 

The lad made his way back to the upper point of the 
island just as the boat landed. 

Two men, armed with rifles and revolvers, sprang out. 
One was clean-shaven, and the other wore a heavy beard. 

“The Portuguese !” demanded the latter ; “where is the 
assassin, my lad? Have you seen him?” 

Marco briefly related his thrilling story, and it caused 
the strangers great excitement. 

“So you and your companion belong to the Assam 
Tiger” exclaimed the smooth-faced man. “That’s odd.” 

“Come on,” interrupted the other. “The lad can go 
with us. We must pursue Garcia at once.” 

“Plenty of time,” replied his companion. “The river is 
twenty miles broad here, and it will soon be daylight. 
The rascal has only one oar, so he can’t possibly escape. 
This brave chap needs attention right away.” 

He peered closely into Marco’s face, and uttered an ex- 
clamation of surprise. 

“I’ve seen you before,” he muttered. “I’ll swear to it. 
And yet it can’t be. No, it’s only a resemblance — a 
mighty odd one, though,’^ 


242 


Strange Rescuers. 


Marco fancied that the stranger's voice was familiar, 
but he was in no humor for such things then. 

He hastily led the men to the crevice, and after a brief 
examination, they tenderly carried the unconscious body 
of Gooloo Singh to the boat and placed it in the stern. 

“He’s not dead,” reported the bearded man, “and I 
should say he has a fair chance, though the knife made 
an ugly thrust between his ribs. He’ll get good attention 
before long.” 

By this time Marco was on the verge of fainting, but 
after his wound was washed and a swallow of brandy had 
gone down his throat, he felt marvelously stronger. 

“I’m ready,” he declared. “Don't wait any longer, or 
Garcia may escape.” 

The men had no intention of lingering. They shoved 
the boat of¥, sprang to their places, and plied the oars with 
long, muscular strokes. 

Marco sat on the stern seat, supporting Gooloo Singh’s 
head and shoulders between his knees. 

It was now broad daylight, and the sky was clear and 
cloudless. The Portuguese was in plain sight nearly a 
mile down the river. He was evidently relying on the 
current of midchannel, instead of trying to reach the dis- 
tant shore. 

“He’s a-goner,” declared the smooth-faced man, who 
sat facing Marco. “We’ll soon overhaul him, and 
then ” 

He finished the sentence by gritting his teeth and 
scowling savagely. 

“I forgot we ain’t introduced yet^ lad,” • he added. 


Strange Rescuers. 


243 


name is Batley, and the other gentleman is Captain 
Pratt, of the passenger steamer Pearl of Delhi. Up there 
she lies now.” 

Marco turned his head and saw a large vessel some four 
miles up stream. 

''Garcia was captured at Rangamati,” Batley resumed, 
"and when the steamer touched there an officer brought 
him on board. He was going to take him to Calcutta. 
But last night, just after the worst of the storm was over, 
Garcia broke his handcuffs and butchered the officer. 
Then he set fire to the steamer, chucked a small boat over- 
board, and jumped into it. We shot at him, but it was 
no good.” 

"You see the fire kept us busy,” added Captain 
Pratt, "and when we got it out, the engines were dam- 
aged. But by this time they ought to be working all 
right again. 

"The captain and I concluded we’d push ahead with the 
boat,” interjected Batley, "though we hadn’t much hope 
of overtakin’ the assassin. His stopping on the island 
will cost him dear.” 

Meanwhile, the sun, in its upward progress, had been 
slowly scattering the banks of pearly mist that still ob- 
scured the lower reaches of the mighty river. 

Marco suddenly started forward from his seat, and ex- 
tended a trembling arm. 

"Look there !” he cried. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


“the beginning of the end.” 

Batley and Captain Pratt jerked their heads quickly 
around, supposing that the lad’s excited cry had some- 
thing to do with Garcia. What they saw was a big, 
square-shaped object resting on the water a long way 
down the river. 

“Looks like a house,” exclaimed Batley. “By Jingo! 
it can’t be ” 

“Yes it is,” interrupted Marco, in joyous tones. “It’s 
the Assam Tiger, as sure as anything. They’re all safe. 
Hurrah I hurrah !” 

“You are right, my lad,” said Captain Pratt. “Have 
your friends got a small boat on board the barge?” 

“No,” replied Marco, “they were blown off last night.” 

“Then Garcia has nothing to fear in that direction,” 
added the captain, “especially as the barge seems to be 
aground on some shoal or bar.” 

“He’s sheering off to one side now,” said Batley. “He 
don’t intend to take any chances.” 

Sure enough, the fugitive changed his course, and be- 
gan to paddle diagonally toward the left shore of the 
river. 

The pursuers pulled steadily on, and in twenty min- 
utes they gained nearly half a mile. 


“The Beginning of the End.” 


245 


Then Garcia headed straight down stream again, and 
it was seen that he would pass within a quarter of a mile 
of the barge. It was a risky performance, for he could 
not have known that the crew had no small boats. 

“Your friends may stop the assassin with a rifle ball,” 
said Captain Pratt. “It’s doubtful, though.” 

“Matlock and Hofstein are good shots,” replied Marco. 
“I don’t believe they know yet what is going on.” 

The pursuing boat was now only half a mile above the 
barge, and an instant later moving figures were visible on 
the deck. 

“I’ll make them understand the situation,” muttered 
Batley. 

He dropped the oars, took up his rifle, and fired two 
shots in the direction of the fugitive. 

The echoes had scarcely died away when those on the 
barge opened a lively fusilade. For several minutes the 
rifles cracked incessantly. 

But the Portuguese ran the gauntlet unscathed. He 
looked neither to right nor left, as he swiftly plied his 
oar. 

“There, he’s out of reach now,” said Captain Pratt. “I 
hardly thought they could hit him.” 

“He won’t escape us,” replied Batley. “Look here, 
captain, what do you say to stopping at the barge and 
dropping the Hindoo? The poor fellow needs attention 
badly.” 

“It’s a good idea,” assented the captain. “We can 
easily make up for lost time. It’s impossible for the ras- 
cal to give us the slip on this big stretch of open water.” 


246 


‘‘The Beginning of the End.’’ 


So, much to Marco’s relief, the boat was turned toward 
the Assam Tiger. It drew rapidly near, and now a taut 
chain, running downward from the rear deck, showed 
that the barge was at anchor, and not aground. 

Just then Matlock and Hof stein recognized Marco, and 
hailed him with lusty shouts. 

It was a joyful moment when the boat ran alongside 
the barge, and the lad was greeted by the friends whom 
he had never expected to see again, and who had long 
since given him up for dead. 

But there was no time for sentiment nor long speeches. 
Brief explanations were made, and then the still uncon- 
scious body of Gooloo Singh was lifted to the deck, and 
comfortably arranged among blankets. 

Hofstein, who had some knowledge of surgery, bustled 
about in search of brandy, and bandages, and sponges. 

Matlock seized his rifle and lowered himself into the 
boat, where he shared the stern seat with Marco. 

“I wouldn’t miss being in at the capture of that fiend 
for a good deal,” he declared. “But you ought not to be 
here, lad. You need attention as badly as Gooloo.” 

“Not quite,” replied Marco. “I’m going along, any- 
how. I’m good for an hour or two yet.” 

“Plucky as ever,” muttered Matlock, admiringly. “I 
might have known you would pull through last night, 
though I admit we gave you up for lost. After the 
worst of the storm was over, we anchored here to wait 
for some passing vessel, and ” 

“Are you ready?” interrupted Batley’s voice. “We 
can’t fool time away here.” 


“The Beginning of the End.” 


247 


'‘In a second or two,” answered Matlock. “Hallo! 
Hofstein,” he shouted. “Raise the anchor and drift along 
behind us.” 

“All right,” was the response from above. 

“Shove off,” cried Captain Pratt. 

An instant later the boat was skimming swiftly away 
from the barge, bound on a stern and terrible mission of 
retribution. 

Though the delay had been brief, Garcia was a good 
mile distant, still trusting to the current of midchannel. 

Unenviable must have been his thoughts when he 
looked back to see his enemies once more in grim pursuit. 

The sun crept higher, and the far-away shores began to 
loom faintly in sight. The air was sweet and cool after 
the hurricane, and the water glistened like burnished 
silver. Two or three vessels were in sight, miles to right 
and left. 

The radiant beauty of the morning was in ill-accord 
with thoughts of bloodshed and revenge, yet the occu- 
pants of the two boats were little disturbed by nature’s 
influence. , 

The race went steadily on. Swiftly and surely the 
avengers overhauled the fleeing and guilty wretch. 

There was still a heavy bank of mist ahead, and sud- 
denly this broke in two and rolled apart, disclosing in 
the watery gap thus cleared a mass of green vegetation 
planted in mid-river. 

“Serpent Island!” cried Captain Pratt, as he glanced 
over his shoulder in response to Marco’s exclamation of 


248 “The Beginning of the End.” 

surprise. “By Jove ! I forgot we were in this neighbor- 
hood.” 

“It’s a big bit of land, too, I’ve heard,” muttered Batley. 

“Ten miles long, and three broad in the middle,” re- 
plied the captain. “It is covered with a dense jungle, and 
infested with serpents and tigers.” 

“It’s good-by to Garcia if he reaches there,” exclaimed 
Matlock. “Then we might as well hunt for a needle in a 
haystack.” 

“He won’t reach it,” cried Batley. “He must not. 
•We’re only half a mile behind him, and the island is 
three times that distance from here.” 

“Yes, a good mile-and-a-half,” assented Captain Pratt. 
“The rascal’s boat is lighter than ours, but we’ll do our 
best. Pull hard, Batley.” 

The oars dipped and fell so rapidly that they hardly 
seemed to leave the water. A long wake of foam and 
ripples gathered behind the scudding boat. 

With the bright prospect of freedom before him, the 
Portuguese likewise strained every nerve to escape. He 
plied his paddle desperately, glancing behind from time 
to time to note how the race progressed. 

Ten minutes slipped by, each one fraught with keenest 
suspense and anxiety. During that time scarcely a word 
was spoken ; during that time the space between the two 
boats steadily decreased. 

Now the island was half a mile away, and the fugitive 
was half that distance from his pursuers. 

Matlock rose, and crept past the rowers to the bow of 


‘‘The Beginning of the End.” 249 

the boat. He perched himself here and waited, rifle in 
hand. 

“That’s hardly fair, comrade,” muttered Batley. “The 
officer he murdered was a friend of mine.” 

“That’s little enough, compared to my wrongs,” replied 
Matlock. “Still, if you wish it, I will take your place at 
the oars and yield you mine.” 

“No, go ahead,” said Batley. “Likely you’re a better 
shot.” 

Another minute went by. The boat swept nearer to 
the fugitive and the island. 

Crack! rang Matlock’s rifle. Crack! crack! 

The bullets fell short of the mark. 

Another minute, and then another shot, which this time 
struck beyond the boat. 

“Now you have him,” cried Marco, excitedly. “Quick ! 
Matlock.” 

But just then Garcia, finding himself within range, 
made two or three fierce strokes that sent the boat straight 
for the point of the island. 

Next he dropped the oar, and suddenly vanished by 
stretching himself flat on the bottom of the craft. Not 
an inch of him showed above the gunwales. 

Matlock watched and waited, holding his rifle in both 
hands. The island was now only three hundred feet 
away, and the fugitive was within twenty yards of it. 

Batley and Captain Pratt pulled like madmen. Mar- 
co’s face was a blending of hope and despair. 

Crunch! the sound was plainly heard as the assassin’s 
boat grounded on the head of the island and held fast. 


250 


“The Beginning of the End.’’ 


Then, quickly, Garcia bounded up and out, and leaped 
madly toward the shelter of the dense jungle, which was 
only six feet way. 

For a brief second his slim figure was in plain view, 
and in that brief second retribution came. Matlock’s 
rifle cracked vengefully, and when the smoke lifted, Gar- 
cia was seen to reel, and toss up his arms. Then, with an 
awful imprecation on his lips, the guilty wretch fell like a 
log. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


WHICH IS FULL OF SURPRISES. 

As soon as the boat touched the island, its occupants 
sprang out. They found Garcia mortally wounded, but 
not dead. 

He looked fearful hatred at his enemies for a moment, 
and then a glaze seemed to come over his eyes. 

“He may live an hour or two,” said Batley, “not lon- 
ger. The ball went clear through him.” 

“He is justly punished for his crimes,” replied Mat- 
lock. “We can afford to be merciful now. We will take 
him to the barge, and let him die in peace.” 

No objection was offered, and after placing the uncon- 
scious man in the boat, all embarked and pulled up stream. 

Twenty minutes later they were on the deck of the 
Assam Tiger, which had meanwhile been drifting slowly 
down the river. 

Gooloo Singh was still unconscious, and the Portu- 
guese was arranged on blankets a few yards away from 
his victim. 

By this time the Pearl of Delhi was in sight, beating her 
way down mid-channel under full steam. 

Matlock and Captain Pratt held a brief consultation, 
and the latter agreed, for a certain sum of money, to take 
the Assam Tiger to Calcutta, 


252 


Which is Full of Surprises. 


So, as soon as the big passenger steamer came within 
hailing distance, she slackened speed and backed up in 
front of the barge, to which she was speedily secured with 
half-a-dozen stout cables. 

Then the huge side paddles of the Pearl of Delhi 
churned the water into foam, and the two vessels 
plowed on toward the Bay of Bengal. 

The steamer’s passengers were eager to crowd on the 
barge, but Captain Pratt ordered all back except two. 

The favored ones were an English surgeon and a tall, 
handsome man, about fifty years of age, whose accent 
proclaimed him an American. He wore a brown, pointed 
beard and mustache, and was dressed in a manner that in- 
dicated wealth and refinement. 

The surgeon examined Gooloo Singh, and declared that 
with careful nursing he would recover. 

Then he moved over to the Portuguese, but at the first 
glance he shook his head. 

‘T can’t do anything here,” he said. “This fellow will 
cheat the hangman. He is nearly gone now.” 

Marco was stirred by a sudden impulse of pity. He 
knelt beside the dying man, and moistened his lips with a 
damp sponge. 

“This won’t do, my boy,” said the surgeon. “You must 
go to bed at once, or I shall have another serious case on 
my hands.” 

At that instant Garcia opened his eyes, and they 
gleamed with intense hatred when they rested on Marco. 
Then, to the amazement of all, a softer expression came 
on the assassin’s face. 


Whicli is Full of Surprises. 253 

Brandy ! brandy !” he demanded, in a hoarse whisper. 

A wineglass full of strong liquor was poured down 
his throat, and the effect was marvelous. He motioned to 
be lifted up, and when he was supported in Hofsteiivs 
arms he looked around him with flushed cheeks. Then 
his eyes rested on Marco, and there was actually some- 
thing like penitence in their gaze. 

“Fm done for,’’ he said, faintly. “Fm glad I didn’t 
kill you, lad. Look here, Fll do you a service before I go. 
You have an enemy. He hired me to murder you, and I 
was to have a thousand dollars. His name is — is Hawk- 
hurst, and — and you’ll — find him ” 

A rattling sound ended the sentence, and a change came 
swiftly over Garcia’s face. He tossed up his hands, and 
fell back — dead. 

The sun shone gloriously down on the deck. The lit- 
tle group of men moved softly away from the spot, and 
Hofstein drew a blanket over the body of the Portuguese. 

Marco pressed his hand to his brow in bewilderment. 

'‘Hawkhurst ! Hawkhurst !” he muttered. “I have 
heard that name before. But where?” 

Then his eyes met Batley’s, and in that instant the veil 
of the past was partly lifted, and he recognized him. 

Batley was even more agitated. He rushed up to Mar- 
co and threw his arms about him. 

“By Jove ! I know you now,” he cried, huskily. 
“You’re little Horace Medford. To think that we should 
meet again in India ! I was right, then, to mistrust that 
scoundrel Hawkhurst. Don’t you remember me, lad? 


254 


Whicli is Full of Surprises. 

Don’t you remember the circus, and the menagerie, and 

how we traveled about the country ” 

“Oh, yes, I remember now !” exclaimed Marco. “It all 
comes back to me. My father died, and this Hawkhurst 
took me away, and put me on Captain Jarrow’s vessel. 
Why did he hate me, and why did he want Garcia to kill 
me. I don’t understand it.” 

Just then the American, who had been standing too far 
away to hear all of the conversation, came quickly for- 
ward, seized Batley’s arm, and fairly dragged him apart 
from the others. 

“I beg your pardon, my good fellow,” he said. “But I 
must see you at once. I accidentally overheard you ad- 
dressed as Batley. Is that your name, and were you re- 
cently the owner of a small tea plantation along the Brah- 
maputra, thirty miles above Goalpara?” 

Batley looked curiously at the stranger, whose man- 
ner betrayed great agitation. 

“I’m the man,” he replied. “If you want to buy the 

plantation, you’re too late. I’ve sold it to ” 

“I don’t want the plantation,” impatiently broke in the 
stranger. “I want you. I came clear from the United 
States to find you. I was at the plantation, and the new 

owner told me you had gone to Calcutta ” 

“I stopped off at Rangamati for a while,” interrupted 

Batley. “Then I took passage on the Pearl of Delhi ” 

“And we were fellow-passengers for three days,” said 
the stranger. “Now, by mere chance, I have found you 
out. I don’t suppose my name will tell you anything. 
I am Mr. Philip Leyburn, of Boston.” 


Which is Full of Surprise. 255 

Batley shook his head, and glanced toward Marco and 
the others, who were looking curiously on. 

''Years ago you were traveling in the United States 
with Santley’s Circus, were you not?’' resumed Mr. Ley- 
burn. 

"I was,” replied Batley. 

"And with the same circus were a certain Horace Med- 
ford and his son,” said Mr. Leyburn, turning suddenly 
pale. "Ah! my unfortunate brother! I dread your an- 
swer to my next question. Where is my nephew — the 
little lad known as Horace Medford? You alone can 
tell me.” 

Batley uttered a gasping cry, and stared for a moment 
in open-mouthed wonder. Then he took hold of Mr. 
Leyburn, and dragged him up to Marco. 

"There is your nephew,” he cried. "My lad, this is 
your uncle.” 

A brief glance satisfied Mr. Leyburn that Batley was 
speaking the truth. 

"He has Horace’s face,” he cried. "At last, thank 
Heaven !” 

He threw his arms about Marco, and drew him ten- 
derly against his breast. 

The scene was a thrilling and affecting one, and some 
minutes passed before its meaning was thoroughly under- 
stood. 

Matlock and Hofstein were the first to congratulate 
Marco, whose face beamed with joy. He realized that 
the black mystery of his past was a mystery no longer, 
and that a new life had suddenly opened before him. 


256 Whicli is Full of Surprise. 


In reply to the questions of his newly-discovered un- 
cle, he related the dim remembrances of his early years, 
and then told the thrilling narrative of his life in India, 
not omitting the slightest detail. 

“You have, indeed^ suffered much, my poor boy,” said 
Mr. Leyburn. “But your troubles are over now, and in 
some measure the future shall atone for the past. It is 
due to these kind friends that the whole sad story should 
be told in their presence. Batley, I should like to hear 
what you know. It may not be much, but, neverthe- 
less ” 

“It is very little, Mr. Leyburn,” interrupted Batley, 
“but I have no objections to telling it if you’ll excuse my 
blunt way of speaking. To begin with, I joined Santley’s 
Circus in eighteen hundred and eighty, and Horace Med- 
ford was then attached to it as lion-tamer. Marco, here, 
was with him — a little bit of a chap four years old. Med- 
ford and I became good friends, but he never spoke of his 
past life, except to say that his wife had been dead two 
years. While we were performing in Philadelphia, Med- 
ford got a letter that took him away for a couple of days. 
He left the boy in my care. The very day he came back 
he was fatally trampled by a loose elephant. Before he 
died, he told me his father had left him a legacy, and that 
he was going to appoint an old friend of his, named 
Hawkhurst, as guardian for his boy. 

“Hawkhurst and a lawyer came just an hour before 
Medford died, and I believe they got the proper papers 
written and signed. I mistrusted Hawkhurst’s looks right 
away, but didn’t dare say anything. He took the little 


257 


Whicli is Full of Surprise. 

fellow away with him the next day, and that was the last 
I have seen or heard of either until to-day. You see, in 
the next winter an uncle of mine died up here in Assam, 
and left me a bit of a plantation. I thought Fd like to 
run it myself, so I came out on the first steamer, and Fve 
been here ever since. Then I got tired and sold out, and 
now Fm on my way back to the Stars and Stripes.’^ 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


CONCLUSION. 

'‘Now it is my turn/' said Mr. Leyburn. “My brother 
Horace and I were the only children of James Leyburn, 
a wealthy merchant of Boston. Our mother died when 
we were quite young, and our father retired from busi- 
ness before either of us was ten years old. Horace was 
two years my junior. Horace was a very gay and care- 
less lad. He was fond of all sports, and the only books 
he cared for were works of travel and adventure. I, on 
the contrary, was fond of study, and took great pride in 
the social standing of our family. 

“We went to college, and in his second year Horace got 
into a scrape that led to his expulsion. He returned home, 
quarreled bitterly with my father, and then ran away in a 
fit of anger. Years later he wrote from England that he 
had married a friendless orphan girl, whose father had 
been the proprietor of a traveling caravan of wild ani- 
mals. This news my father considered a blot on the fam- 
ily name. He at once wrote to Horace, disowning him, 
and cutting him off without a penny. No answer was re- 
ceived, and for seven years we learned nothing. 

“Then we discovered accidentally that Horace's wife 
was dead, and that he and his young son were traveling 
through the United States under the assumed name of 


Conclusion. 


259 


Medford. Three years later my father died. At the 
last his heart was softened, and he bequeathed Horace the 
sum of one hundred thousand dollars. 

“That legacy was claimed a month later. I believe 
Horace came to Boston and received the amount in the 
shape of a check from our family lawyer. Meanwhile 
I had gone abroad, and it was a full year before I heard 
of my brother’s death. 

“During the years that followed I traveled about from 
sheer restlessness, living at intervals in nearly every large 
city on the continent. Twelve months ago I came home 
to Boston. I remembered Horace’s child — my only living 
kinsman — and I determined to find him. 

“I need not weary you with the details of that ex- 
haustive search. Santley’s Circus was broken up, and 
many of its old employees were dead. Finally I ob- 
tained the clue that brought me to India and up the 
Brahmaputra in quest of Batley. Of Hawkhurst I 
only know that he was a college chum of my brother. 
It is my impression that he was a dissolute and un- 
principled lad. For his crimes and the base betrayal of 
his trust he shall assuredly be made to suffer. And in 
conclusion let me say that I shall devote my future 
life to the welfare and happiness of my dear nephew, 
whom Heaven has mercifully permitted me to find.” 

Mr. Leyburn paused, and softly placed his arm 
around Marco’s shoulders. 

A week later the Pearl of Delhi and the Assam Ti- 


26 o 


Conclusion. 


gcr, still moored together, dropped anchor in the 
Hooghly River at Calcutta. A statement of Garcia’s 
death and burial was presented to the proper authori- 
ties, and as neither Matlock nor his companions would 
take the reward, it was given to the family of the mur- 
dered officer, who resided at Rangamati. 

Thanks to a strong constitution Gooloo Singh was 
rapidly mending, and was able to be moved to the Eng- 
lish hospital. 

Mr. Philip Leyburn and Marco — for by that name our 
hero shall be known to the end — went straight to the 
Great Eastern Hotel. Mr. Cecil Falconer had left there 
only two hours before, having read in the papers of the 
arrival of the Pearl of Delhi, and the stirring adventures 
she had encountered on her passage down the Brahma- 
putra. Twenty-four hours later he was on board a fast 
steamer, bound for home. 

As there were a great many things to be attended to, a 
month passed before our friends were ready to leave Cal- 
cutta. 

In the first place, Matlock and Hofstein waited until 
Gooloo Singh was quite well, for they wanted him to as- 
sist in the care of the animals during the long trip to 
New York. They also engaged Batley for the same pur- 
pose. 

In the meantime, Mr. Leyburn endeavored, by every 
means in his power, to find Hawkhurst. Since the latter 
had been known under a false name during his stay in 
India, the task proved a fruitless one. Not a trace of 
him was discovered. 


Conclusion. 


261 


Under Richter’s instructions Matlock chartered a por- 
tion of a comparatively fast steamer for the convoy of 
wild beasts. As Marco was anxious to be with his 
friends, the same vessel carried Mr. Leyburn and his 
nephew away from the shores of India. 

At Southampton they delayed only long enough to en- 
gage passage on another steamer, and after a quick run 
they arrived safely at New York. 

The surprise of Mr. Leyburn and Marco may be 
imagined when they found the papers teeming with full 
accounts of the rascality of the very man whom they had 
vainly sought in Calcutta, and ascertained that he had 
been arrested, and was out of custody under heavy bonds 
for trial. 

The explanation was very simple. Captain Jar row had 
been pulled out of the Hooghly River by some native 
boatmen, and taken to a hospital, where he hovered be- 
tween life and death for some weeks, unable to give any 
information about himself. 

When he recovered he returned to New York in search 
of his vessel, and there he stumbled upon Hawkhurst, 
who had just arrived. He had the villain arrested at 
once, and made public the whole plot. 

To make a long story brief, Hawkhurst jumped his 
bail, and fled to South America, where he will probably 
drag out a miserable existence to the end of his days. 
He left real estate property in Philadelphia, which was 
legally attached, and yielded to Marco nearly the equiva- 
lent of his stolen fortune. 

As Captain Jarrow had shown himself to be really 


262 


Conclusion. 


penitent for his share in the plot, he was not prosecuted. 
He made a full confession to Mr. Leyburn, telling how he 
had kept Marco on his vessel for some years, and had 
finally turned him over to Dan Stapleford at Calcutta. 
During these years he was constantly in receipt of Kush- 
money from Hawkhurst. 

Having taken a fancy to Matlock and Hofstein, Batley 
concluded to enter the employment of Carl Richter. 

Gooloo Singh went with Marco and Mr. Leyburn to 
their Boston home, and there the services of the devoted 
Hindoo will always be highly prized and appreciated. 

And now we must leave our young hero in the full en- 
joyment of the new and bright life that has opened before 
him. His first aim is a thorough education, and as- 
suredly no money will be spared in the pursuit of it. 

Later on, when he reaches the threshold of manhood, 
he and his uncle will probably spend much time in travel, 
for both have imbibed a fondness for strange and wild 
countries. Of course, Gooloo Singh will accompany 
them, and perhaps, in the course of their wanderings, they 
will some day chance upon the friends of Marco’s earlier 
years — ^the intrepid wild-beast hunters of the Indian 
jungles. 


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with lengthy descriptions — in fact, just the sort that must appeal to everj 
healthy boy who is fond of thrilling exploits and deeds of heroism. 

Adventures of a Telegfraph Boy. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Arthur Helmuth. Edward S. Ellis 

Battle and a Boy. Blanche Willis Howard 

Boy Boomers. Gilbert Patten 

Boy Cattle King. Gilbert Patten 

Boy From the West. Gilbert Patten 

Boys m the Forecastle. George H. Coomer 

Butcher of Cawnpore. Wm. Murray Gray don 

Cadet Kit Carey. Lieut. Lounsberry 

Captain Carey. Lieut. Lounsberry 

Centreboard Jim. Henry Harrison Lewis 

Chased Through Norway. James Otis 

Check Number 2f34. Edward S. Ellis 

Commodore Junk. George Manville Fenn 

Cruise of the Snowbird. Gordon Stables 

Cryptogram. William Murray Gray don 

Catmur^s Cave. 1 .chard Dowling 

Dean Dunham. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Dick Chiverly. W. H. G. Kingston 
Dingo Boys. George Manville Fenn 
Don Kirk^s Mine. Gilbert Patten 
Ensign Merrill. Henry Harrison Lewis 
Eric Dane. Matthew White, Jr. 

Erie Train Boy. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Five Hundred Dollar Check. Horatio Alger, jr. 

From Canal Boy to President. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

From Farm Boy to Senator. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

From Lake to Wilderness. William Murray Graydon 
(c 2) Any TOIume sent, postpaid, upon iceeeipt of price 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, ^ ^ ^ NEW YORK 


The BOYS' Own Library 

Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume 

From Powder Monkey to Admiral. W. H. G. Kingston 

From Tent to White House. Edward S. Ellis 

Gay Dashleigh^s Academy Days. Arthur Sewell 

Giant Islanders. Brooks McCormick 

Gold of Flat Top Mountain. Frank H. Converse 

Golden Magnet. George Manville Fenn 

Golden Rock. Edward S. Ellis 

Grand Chaco. George Manville Fenn 

Guy Hammersley. Matthew White, Jr. 

Happy-Go-Lucky Jack. Frank FI. Converse 

Heir to a Million. Frank H. Converse 

How He Won. Brooks McCormick 

In Barracks and Wigwam. William Murray Graydon 

Inland Waterways. James Otis 

In Search of an Unknown Race. Frank H. Converse 

In Southern Seas. Frank H. Converse 

In the Sunk Lands. Walter F. Bruns 

James Braithwaite. W. H. G. Kingston 

Joe Nichols. Alfred Oldfellow 

Jud and Joe. Gilbert Patten 

Kit Carey's Protege. Lieut. Lounsberry. 

Land of Mystery. Edward S. Ellis 
Lieut. Carey's Luck. Lieut. Lounsberry 
Mark Stanton. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Midshipman Merrill. Henry Harrison Lewis 
My Mysterious Fortune. Matthew White, Jr, 

Mystery of a Diamond. Frank H. Converse 
Nature's Young Noblemen. Brooks McCormick 
Ned Newton. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

New York Boy. Horatio Alger, Jr. 

(c 3) tny volume sent, postpaid, upon receipt of pricb 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, ^ NEW YORK 


The BOYS' Own Library 

Handsomely Bound in Cloth* Pricey 75 cents per Volume 

Old Man of the Mountain* Geo. H. Coomer 
On the Trail of Geronimo* Edward S. Ellis 
Perils of the Jungle* Edward S. Ellis 
Peter the Whaler* W. H. G. Kingston 
Pirate Island* Harry Collingwood 
Rajah^s Fortress* William Murray Gray don 
Rival Battalions* Brooks McCormick 
Silver Ship* Leon Lewis 
Spectre Gold* Headon Hill 
That Treasure* Frank H. Converse 
Tiger Prince* William Dalton 
Tom Tracy* Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Tour of a Private Car* Matthew White, Jr* 

Uncle Nat* Alfred Oldfellow 
Unprovoked Mutiny* James Otis 
Voyage to the Gold Coast* Frank H. Converse 
Walter Griffith* Horatio Alger, Jr. 

War Tiger* William Dalton 

Way to Success* Alfred Oldfellow 

Weathercock* George Manville Fenn 

Wheeling for Fortune* James Otis 

White Elephant* William Dalton 

White King of Africa* William Murray Graydon 

White Mustang* Edward S. Ellis 

With Boer and Britisher* William Murray Graydon 

Won at West Point* Lieut. Lounsberry 

Young Acrobat* Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Young Editor* Matthew White, Jr. 

Young Vagabond* Z. R. Bennett 

(c 4) Any Tolome sent, postpaid, npon receipt of prfco 
STREET & SMITH. PUBLISHERS, ^ ^ ^ NE>57 YORK 




44 




By ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE 

In this, the first 
book in the series, 
the splendid set- 
ting of the story is in the woods of Maine. A grasping uncle 
waylays his nephew in the pine wilderness and endeavors to 
force him to part with his birthright. A sturdy chum comes 
to the rescue just in time, and joins hands in routing the thiev- 
ing relative. 

The boys 


44 




who play 
their parts 

in the second volume in this absorbing series, are manly, 
whole-hearted boys, knowing no fear, whether set upon at mid- 
night while bivouacked around the camp-fire, or plying their 
paddles in treacherous currents and menaced by unseen foes on 
shore. 

Is the title of 
the third book in 
the “ Camp and 


“The Rival Canoe Boys” 


STREET & SMITH 


Canoe Series. ** It is a story of mystery, ill-fortune, and perse- 
verance. Two manly boys, of the lake region, are face to face 
with an unscrupulous specimen of the dude type and a villain- 
ous guide, who is open for any crime, provided there are 
enough dollars back of it. 


In Cloth: $1.00 per Volume 



THB SIX BOOKS IN THIS SERIES ARE 
THE SORT THAT MUST APPEAL TO 
EVERY BOY WHO IS POND OP OUT^ 

DOOR EXERCISE OP WHATEVER KIND 

The Rockspur Nine 

Is a base-ball tale of absorbing interest, which 
must be read not alone for its story — which 
is admirable — but also for its many hints on 
pitching, catching and batting, that will oe 
found invaluable to the boy who wishes to 
shine in the base-ball world. 

The Rockspur Eleven 

Is, appropriately enough, a story of foot-ball; 
.ind it is impossible to conceive a yarn more 
fascinating to the healthy boy who feels at his 
best in his foot-ball rig. 

The Rockspur Rivals 

The scenes are those of winter, and most of 
the action takes place on the ice. Here, too, 
there is much useful information in a readable 
shape — this time about ice-boats, fancy skat- 
ing, sleds and skis, and ice hockey. 


Three other books will be added to the Series 
later on. Their titles are : ** The Rockspur 
Athletes,” “The Rockspur Crew,” and “The 
Rockspur Champions.” 


ELEGANTLY BOUND IN CLOTH 
SI.OC PER VOLUME 


Street & Smith, 238 William St*, N* Y* 


taiid and Rao^e Series 

By St. QEORQB RATHBORNE 


There are no more delightfni characters in fiction than 
Karl, the yoting cowboy, and Cnthbert Lee, his tenderfoot 
'^pard,^^ whose strange adventures are chronicled in the 
three volumes which comprise this series. 


In “ Sunset Ranch,” which is the first 
volume in the “ Ranch and Range Series,” 
Karl succeeds in saving from the clutches of a 
villainous gang, Cuthbert’s long-lost cousin, a 
laughing-eyed maid who has spent most ot her 
life on the prairie. Fascinating in the extreme 
are the descriptions of Cowboy life as it was 
in its most famous days ; of the grand round-up, 
range-riding, night “wrangling,” ar i Indian 
horse racing. 

The scene changes to a lone dug-out in the pine 
woods in the second book of the Series, which is 
called, “ Chums of the Prairie.” There 
is trouble for the two boys right along from the 
first chapter, whether it be facing death in a 
bear’s den, or brought to bay by the gray ter- 
ror of the pine. 

Third in the “Ranch and Range Series” 
comes “The Young Range Riders,” in 
which Karl and Cuthbert invade the land of the 
Montezumas, and find fresh adventure on a 
Mexican ranch. 


lo Cloth, 


at all 

booksellers. 


per 

volume 


Street & Smith, 238 William St., N. Y. 






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